T'Po'calypse
by MP - Mary Contrary
Summary: So what if Cochrane hadn't launched the Phoenix when he did? Or anyone else...for a good, long time...
1. Chapter 1

**Apocalypse (əˈpäkəˌlips)**

2. An event involving destruction or damage on an awesome or catastrophic scale.

__(Greek: ἀποκάλυψις apokálypsis; "lifting of the veil" or "revelation")__

* * *

><p><strong>Scraptown<br>**_**(50 miles west of the Columby Ruins)  
><strong>_**The Carolinas, Confederacy Territory**

Trip moved the torch lightly down the seam, sealing together the last few inches that would secure the metal plate to the frame. Which was good, since he was about out of methanol, so the generator was gonna sputter out in a minute and it wouldn't _matter _how many rods he had left.

Probably should have thought of that when he traded that dog food for the rods. But, damn, how often can you expect a whole crate of 'em to drop in your lap like that?

Shutting down the torch and pulling the goggles up off his eyes, he gave the weld a critical examination. Outside the garage, music thumped rhythmically up the street from the Wreck Haul, and somewhere farther beyond that a dog barked in response.

It was pretty late but there were still people milling around in the street right outside the open door, which always made him feel a little exposed at a time like that. Suddenly aware he'd been focused entirely on his work for a good long time, rather than how someone might waltz in off that street and crack him in the head. Make off with all his gear.

That'd actually happened once. He'd managed to get most of it back, though, since someone shot that guy and robbed him as he tried to drag a stolen tool chest with a missing wheel down the street. Which had been pretty ironic.

But the weld looked good enough to hold. At least until the whole plate got chewed up anyway by the few hundred rounds of soft lead some raider would be dumb enough to waste on it…

"Yo, Trip!"

He looked over, already standing to go switch off that generator and save maybe a few drops of fuel.

Romeo, the hauler who's truck he'd been working on all night. Just in time to pay up.

"Yo, Romeo." Trip said, smiling. He dragged the goggles off his head and tossed them on the hood of the truck before turning to flip the generator off. More to save fuel than to make negotiating easier.

"How's my baby?" Romeo asked, coming around to take a look for himself, while Trip killed the generator and hung the torch back on the kludged together welder.

"That's a half inch of steel over the engine housing." Trip said, turning back around again. "That ought to offset what I've got on that tank in the back but that damned wedge in the front is still dragging you down. You'll have to keep up maintenance on the suspension, with all that weight on it."

Romeo shook his head, even as he stood in front of the truck admiring the handiwork.

"Need the ram." He said, distracted.

Trip frowned. "If it's really getting that bad out there, then you need to start hauling in teams. Get the other haulers together…"

"Need the trade, too." Romeo grinned, glancing over at him. "Not enough to go around."

Trip sighed. Couldn't really argue or anything. Times _were _tough…

"Well, I'm not going to complain again about what you're doing to your fuel efficiency with this kind of set up. I did what I could to clean up your engine but…"

Romeo nodded sadly. "Yeah. Well, if you can't get the goods there in one piece, fuel don't matter anyway. Speaking of which…"

He raised his head, raising up on his toes to try to get a better look at the roof and the steel dome over the right side of the cab.

Trip nodded and walked around to the front with Romeo.

"Ball bearings and a lot of silicone." He said. "Again, something you're going to have to keep up. Sand gets in there and gums up the works, that gun won't swing around as quick as you need it to."

"But it's the same setup you had on Nell's hauler, right?" Romeo asked. "'Cause I rode shotgun for her a few times. Liked that gun of hers."

Trip nodded. "More or less. This one should glide a bit better, though. As long as you keep it up. And you'll need someone to actually ride shotgun with you. You can't drive _and _man the gun."

"Yeah, Clover's riding with me."

Trip stared. Until Romeo realized he was being stared at and met his gaze.

"What?"

"Clover's crazy, Romeo."

Romeo gestured at the pivot turret atop the truck.

"_That _kinda crazy, right?"

Trip frowned. "Yeah, I guess so. But a couple of other kinds of crazy, too."

"Don't be so protective, Trip. Girl's gotta eat. She's not gonna get any work around here."

Trip shook his head. There wasn't really much he could say about that, either. It wasn't like Clover had any kind of life worth _not _risking anyway. Hell, none of them really did out here. Life was…pretty cheap these days. For a mutie, even cheaper.

"Alright." He nodded. "But just…take care of her. Okay?"

"I'll keep her buttoned up, don't worry so much." Romeo assured. "Go there, get paid, get back. Nothing to it."

Trip smirked at that. "I think you forget I rode with you a couple of times."

"And we're both standing here talking about it, so I guess I got you back alive, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I guess." Trip said. But he was already distracted by what was walking by outside the garage door.

Her clothes were as ragged as anyone else's…but she was clean. Her face and hands anyway. And she was damned good looking. _Stunning_, in fact. Enough that he had to shake that off pretty quick or she'd have walked on by before he could even say anything.

Because he hadn't seen her before, which meant she'd come from somewhere else. And Romeo was the only hauler in town at the moment, as far as he knew. Which meant she probably had her own wheels…

"Ma'am." He called, loudly enough to be heard out there as he stepped forward. "Help you with somethin'?"

She stopped, which was good. And gave him a quick assessing look.

Which wasn't _near _paranoid enough, he thought. So she either had backup somewhere or she wasn't very smart.

She had a cap pulled down tight over her head, all the way down over her ears even. Wasn't that cold out but...kinda made her look pretty cute. On top of being jaw-dropping to begin with. Which was a whole other kind of weird. Any woman with half a brain didn't walk around clean, good-looking and cute without armed bodyguards or something.

Hell, the smart ones just plain didn't walk around at all. They found a safe place and held up there. Did what they had to do to survive, like everybody else. This lady was just asking for trouble. And Scraptown was bound to oblige, so he'd better hurry and make what profit he could.

"No. Thank you." She said. But she didn't walk off just yet.

"Well, if you need directions or anything, I'm happy to oblige." Trip said, stepping out into the street with her.

She didn't say anything to that, so he pushed forward to try to hook her a bit before she got away.

"This is Trip's." He said, gesturing at the garage behind. "I'm Trip. Only greaser around here, if you find you need one."

She considered that for a second. And kept whatever she was considering to herself, too. Not so much as a flicker on her face anywhere. So maybe she _was _smart.

"I'm new here." She said. "What can you tell me about this place?"

"Scrap?" Trip asked. "Not much to say. Just another trade town, like any other. We've got the Bunker down there but that hardly matters. They won't have anything to do with you."

He stepped up beside her…not so close as to get stabbed or anything, but enough to show polite interest in this, hopefully, potential new customer.

"We've got the Wreck Haul down the street there." He said, pointing. "In case you want a drink or something. They've got music for maybe the next hour. More if you've got the trade for it. Got a clinic right across the street from that, two doors down from us."

He nodded directly across the street at the building there. "The Bungalow, if you're going to be here long enough that you need a room. Main Trade's right next door to us here but they won't be open until the morning."

"I see." She said, with only polite interest. If even that.

"Romeo here's the only hauler in town, that I know of." Trip said. "So if you got here on your own, you should probably bring your vehicle in and let me take a look at her. I've got Main Trade right next door to me, so I take pretty much anything in pay."

"That won't be necessary." She said.

Which…was not good. Because it _was _necessary, if she had any kind of vehicle at all. So there was something a little off here…

"I have heard about the Bunker." She said smoothly. "How much of that is true, Trip?"

Trip grinned. "I guess it depends on what you heard. But I'd say most of it isn't. Just a bunch of military types hold up down there. They trade a little…kinda what got Scrap going in the first place…but they don't do much but stay safe down in their bunker. Just let the rest of us scratch out a living up here and trade for what they need."

"But I understand the goods they trade are of an unusually high quality." She said. "Much of it equipment pre-dating the last war."

Trip smiled politely while he processed that. Everyone was curious about the Bunker, sure. And there wasn't a year that went by that some gang out there didn't try to raid the town trying to get to it. So folks always asked about it when they passed through.

They just didn't use phrases like 'unusually high quality' and 'equipment pre-dating whatever' all that often.

And there was something funny about how her lips moved when she talked. Like she was fluent enough in English but spoke some other language first. Enough that her mouth tried to form words in that other language, but it came out English instead. Didn't even give her an accent or anything, either, that he could tell…but it was odd as hell.

"That's right." He said. "They've got a lot of pre-war gear down there. Or they did, anyway. I guess they've traded most of it over the years. It used to be an old cryo-bunker. The folks running it now are all the kids and grand-kids of the folks that came out of cryo way back when."

"Trip came up from down there." Romeo said, leaning casually against his truck now. Grinning. "He can tell you all about it."

Trip tried not to scowl. But he couldn't help it. But at least she'd turned to regard Romeo for a moment, so she missed it.

_Damned big-mouth haulers..._

"Aren't we done, Romeo?" Trip said. "You can leave when you're ready, you know."

Romeo shrugged. "Well, I was gonna _pay _you, but…"

Trip cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Let me take care of this real quick…"

He darted around her, hoping to square things up with the hauler _fast_. Before she got away.

Not that he was trying to score trade for greaser work anymore. It was clear she either didn't have a vehicle or it wasn't hers and she didn't care. But if she was here to stir up some kind of trouble with the Bunker…

…well, hell. He guessed maybe they had it coming, squirreling away down there and doing nothing at all to help the people up here. But the town still needed the Bunker. They had Romag generators down there. And educational videos…

And, really, _he _still needed them…

Trip sighed once he reached Romeo, who as already unlocking the cargo area of the truck. "Whatcha got for trade?"

"Well…" Romeo said. "I've got two cases of can food, most of 'em are still good…"

"You got _three_?"

"Nah, just two. Got a case of MRE's, too. And I've got methanol, so…"

"How do you have…? Never mind. Fifty gallons."

"_Fifty?_ Are you kidding? I have to _run _this thing, you know…"

"Told you about that, Romeo." Trip shrugged. "All that armor's heavy."

"Okay, look. I've got three long-handle axes here. In good shape. Tremor loves tools. The farmers can't get enough of..."

"Is that a microwave?"

"What?"

"That. Right there."

"I dunno what that is. Looked tech so I grabbed it."

"That, fifty gallons and the MRE's."

"You don't want the axes?"

"Toss 'em in if you want to. I'll take 'em."

"Nah, you're not that pretty I'm gonna just throw my trades at yah."

"Alright." Trip said, rubbing his hands together. "Give me that microwave there. Be _careful _with it, though."

Oh. And crap.

He glanced over his shoulder.

But she was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Trip sat back, his legs propped up on the workbench, so that his chair teetered just right. Perfectly balanced, so he could focus on thoroughly enjoying chicken parmesan. He was pretty sure parmesan meant 'cheese' or something but it was damned good with chicken, whatever it was.

And there was peanut butter in this one, too. With some crackers that weren't any good any more…but, still.

Peanut butter.

He moaned with appreciation as he ate, muttering incomprehensibly in some vague spiritual tongue about just how good it all was and how grand life itself turned out to be. Since life at the moment was largely limited to chicken parmesan.

He was going to have to dig around and see if there was another one of these in there. Or try the meatloaf one. Maybe that.

A white face appeared at the garage door. Hanging down from the roof above, not from the actual _side _like a face would normally appear.

A _white _face, Trip noted. Pale white. Like clouds or…maybe goat milk. Or things that are unusually white. With short, badly cropped white hair. And two sharp canine teeth like little fangs, seeing as how she was smiling broadly at him, upside down, hanging from his roof out there.

He was sure that was why she liked smiling at people so much. Her fangs made them nervous.

Trip would have sighed normally. Or expressed some kind of disapproval. But…chicken parmesan…

"'ay, Clo'er." He mumbled, his mouth full of chicken parmesan.

"Trip!" She said, grinning. "Whatcha got?"

Oh, right. Yeah, shoulda known she'd be along soon. He was eating, after all. With the garage door open.

"Food."

"Have some?"

Trip stopped chewing long enough to narrow his eyes at her. It wasn't as if he really minded helping her out sometimes or anything. He just wasn't about to make it _easy _for her.

She frowned. Upside down.

"She's hungry, Trip. We ain't fed her since yesterdays."

'Yesterdays' meaning anything from yesterday to a thousand years ago, in Clover-speak. Not to mention she'd surely eaten since 'yesterdays' and was just laying it on, hoping to get a free meal.

Trip swallowed busily, then sighed. "Come on in, Clover."

She was falling down, flipping around in mid-air and landing on her feet before he even finished inviting her in. Tail wiggling happily behind her.

"And keep that damned thing away from me while I'm eating, Clover!" He warned.

"Not her fault." Clover said, tail still wiggling, already focused intently on the case of MRE's. Her fingers flexing in anticipation of grabbing something and munching it happily. "Mind of its own." She said.

"Crap." Trip said, digging his plastic spork in for another big bite.

Clover ignored him, already rooting around in the case. Pretending to read the various meals in there to pick out exactly the one she wanted. For whatever weird reason, since she couldn't read a word.

And he wasn't buying that 'mind of its own' thing, either. He was pretty sure she just pretended that as well, so she could be passive aggressive with the damned creepy thing. Like that time when he wouldn't give her one of the only two cans of apple sauce he'd traded for and her tail's 'mind of its own' decided to drape all over his shoulder, wiggling over his coveted apple sauce until he lost his appetite…

"She got a secret." Clover said, still focused on divining her next meal.

"I've got a secret, too." Trip said. "You're a dumbass for wanting to ride shotgun for Romeo. That's _my _secret."

Clover shook her head. "That's not a secret."

Then stopped and squinted at the air in front of her. _Almost _getting that maybe that's not what she meant somehow…

Trip chuckled.

But she ignored him. And picked out the vegetable lasagna, which was fine with him anyway. He would have eaten the hell out of it but that was still probably the one he'd have missed the least. She put those teeth to work ripping the old plastic cover off cleanly, before breaking the blue tab on the thing, dropping right down on her butt, on the floor, with her tail curled across her lap. The packaged meal on the floor between her feet, already steaming.

Then tapping the vent, the package turned just right to keep steam from scalding her foot. And flipping the tab up again to break the seal and open the tray fully, ready to eat. As if she'd done it a hundred times before.

"You ever eat one of those before, Clover?" Trip asked.

"Nope. Good? _Smells _good."

Trip nodded. Then spoke his mind while he got back to work on the chicken parmesan.

"I'll never figure out how you do that."

"Do what?"

"Pick up something and just know how to work it like that."

Clover considered the MRE for a moment, her head cocked slightly.

"_You _do it." She said, having decided the matter. Then grabbed the spork off the tray and started digging in.

Trip shrugged, mouth full. "Jus' a mecha'ic."

"You fix things. Know math. Like that."

"Mhm."

Clover didn't say anything else, focusing her attention on the lasagna. And Trip scraped up the last of the parmesan, before turning his attention to the peanut butter packet.

So they ate in silence for a while.

Or, at least, without speaking coherently. They made plenty of noise otherwise. But Trip didn't remember Clover had a secret until well after they'd eaten, which was a while since it turned out that he had another chicken parmesan in there after all. And so he had to let Clover have another MRE so he wouldn't feel guilty about eating in front of her.

"Oh." He said suddenly, as they both lounged around enjoying the sensation of being _not _hungry for a while. "You were going to tell me a secret."

"For food?" Clover said.

Trip frowned. "I just gave you two MREs. You owe me three or four secrets. And a couple of hours rearranging that scrap pile out back."

"You gave 'em to her." She pointed out.

So he glared at her.

So she shrugged, her palms up, and held it for a moment. You _gave _them to her.

So he called her bluff. He was pretty sure she _wanted _to tell him that secret.

"Fine. Forget it."

It took about a minute of sitting there in silence, enjoying not being hungry.

"Okay, fine. Just…"

Clover started digging in the case, still pretending to read the labels.

"…_one_, though."

And of course, she made him wait until she found the one she wanted. Even if he was still sure she had no idea what was in it.

"Woman in the Bungalow." Clover said, as she stuffed the MRE into some secret compartment in her jacket somewhere. "Don't smell right."

Trip frowned. "That's it? There's a smelly woman in the Bungalow?"

"Smells _wrong_." Clover said. "She's alone, too. Took some clothes and some men were gonna get her."

Trip tried to translate all that for a minute.

"That was her, hours ago." Clover offered. "You was talking to her."

_Oooh. That _one. And that wasn't even _one_ hour ago.

"She stole clothes from somebody and they were after her?" Trip guessed.

"Yeah but no. They were just after her."

Okay, never mind. It'd take all night figuring that one out.

"Alright, so what about her?"

"She don't smell right." Clover said, again. As if the point were obvious.

Trip stared for a second.

"Clover, give me back my MRE."

She slapped the floor, exasperated. He was clearly being unreasonable.

"I don't care about smelly women in the Bungalow, Clover. I'm pretty sure there aren't any in there that _don't _smell funny."

"Smells _wrong_, she said." Clover argued.

"So? So what?"

"So she's trouble." Clover frowned.

Trip chuckled. "I knew _that _already, Clover."

"Oh." She said. "Okay."

Of course, he could argue that wasn't worth a whole MRE but…well, whatever. Girl had to eat. And she probably really did think she'd helped him out somehow.

"Alright, so some men were after her a while ago?"

"Yeah."

"You got a place to sleep tonight, Clover?"

Her eyes shifted until she put two and two together on that one. Then she frowned.

"She's fine. We take care of her."

Trip sighed. "I don't mean it like _that_. I'm not trying to…make an _arrangement _here or something…"

Clover was already getting to her feet.

"She's fine." She said, tightly.

"Hey, wait. Clover…"

"_Bye_." She said.

Out the door and gone. Up on his roof in a flash, pitter patter of little white mutie feet overhead until she was gone.

And, dammit, he _hadn't _meant it like that. She could have slept in the garage. He just didn't like her being out there alone.

So after a while, feeling bad that he maybe should have approached all that a little more carefully, he got up, with a regretful sigh. At least she had a proper, workable paranoia. But he didn't like her thinking she had to worry about _him _like that.

And who the hell would want to bag a mutie, anyway? That was just sick. She had a _tail_, for crying out loud. So anyone who would probably wouldn't be very nice about it, so…yeah. He supposed it was good she was paranoid about it, even if that had to include him too.

He stretched a bit before starting off to make his rounds, double checking that everything was locked up tight. After a bit of hesitation, he left that one high window unlocked again, though. In case she wanted to sneak in and sleep under that pile of burlap sacks in the corner, like she did sometimes.

* * *

><p>T'Pol entered through the front door of The Bungalow, after casually brushing at the edges of the worn woolen cap she wore, to ensure her ears remained adequately covered. Having previously witnessed the majority of the other patrons of the establishment nod to the proprietor when entering, she did the same. Just as she had done the last time she'd entered. He nodded back and quickly dismissed her, as he had before. And that was all.<p>

Precisely as she preferred, intending in all instances to limit contact with the locals as much as possible. Even the limited conversation with the mechanic a moment ago had clearly been too dangerous, as he had become progressively more suspicious about her the longer they spoke. Thankfully these Humans were possessed of a generally open, even obvious, expressiveness. And so tracking his reactions to their interaction had been easy. But the fact remained that it had still proven quite risky and she had learned little of use as a result of that risk.

Up the rickety stairway to the hall overlooking the entrance area, she sought and found her room, marked in the local written language as '4'. Utilizing the key she'd rented, she cycled the mechanical lock, entered and then cycled it again behind her. And slid the attached wooden beam into place across the door, barricading it still further. Mindful more than ever of assuring her personal safety while on this planet.

As it happened, the local mechanic's sudden attempt to socialize with her in the street had proven fortuitous. Three Humans had been following her down the dark street, keeping more or less to the shadows, with the obvious intent of committing theft or violence. Or perhaps both. And so their short interaction had discouraged their pursuit for a time. Still, she remained aware that they had at least managed to perceive that she was alone. Certainly she must seem an easy target for victimization. It was therefore doubtful then that they had given up completely and it would be logical to assume they had tracked her here, determining which room she currently rented at the establishment.

She looked around the meager room, possessing nothing more than a hand-stitched mattress of some sort, stuffed with a variety of lumpy materials and tossed casually in one corner. That and a chair, which was missing a leg and thus was unsafe to sit upon. It didn't offer much in regards to comfort but what safety it suggested she would prefer not to lose just yet.

Nevertheless, trading her gold-plated IDIC medallion had secured a single, poor meal and the room itself for only three days. One of which had been spent already.

Now it seemed the bunker beneath the town might not offer any hope of more advanced technology she might be able to use. At least, not according to what the mechanic had implied. She could only hope then that the impression she'd gathered from him concerning that had been somewhat accurate. In that he'd deemphasized the bunker and everything it represented. Probably due, of course, to the suspicions he'd quickly begun to harbor about her.

Crouching down to seat herself on the floor next to the mattress, she rested and contemplated what change in goals she must adopt. Clearly accessing the so-called 'bunker' may no longer be worth the inherent risks, if it truly were as the mechanic had indicated. Lacking any technology she might utilize to make subspace communications, or even material with which to construct a crude communication device of that sort, there was nothing there worth the risk of conflict with the locals. And the very real possibility of capture, inevitably revealing her off-world nature in the process. Not to mention the deadly violence that seemed the hallmark of every other form of conflict resolution among these people.

The situation was extremely discouraging, of course. She had assumed, perhaps erroneously, that such technology must be available here somewhere. The inhabitants of this planet had conducted at least one successful unmanned warp flight that High Command was aware of. And that was almost a hundred years ago. Whatever may have occurred here since then, the probability remained high that there had been other successful tests as well and, so, the requisite technological progress that surely must have followed.

The fact that a seemingly fully functional warp-capable vessel was parked in orbit, however primitive it might be or however long it had remained unattended, established that much. And the sporadic radio telemetry they had detected between the vessel and the underground complex…this 'bunker', as the locals called it…such technology would have to be found there, if it was to found anywhere at all.

That, however, remained the crucial point. Whether it could be found anywhere on this planet. If it could, then it should be within the underground complex. And if not, then she must begin making long term plans based on the assumption of her continued existence here, for perhaps many decades.

They had never been able to send a distress call or communication of any sort prior to losing impulse power and falling into the atmosphere. So if she were unable to establish communications in some manner, then she may well be consigned to live many decades here without ever hoping to see any form of rescue dispatched to retrieve her.

The logical course of action then would be to secure herself a place here. Some measure of safety and a means of attending to her needs. That would require additional trade goods, initially. And once she had managed to grant herself enough time, having accomplished at least that much, then she would be able to investigate the complex more carefully, minimizing the possibility of conflict or otherwise drawing unnecessary attention to herself. If it then became obvious she would be trapped on this planet for an extended period, she would be in a better position to assess that situation at that time.

And so securing trade goods was determined to be her obvious first short-term goal. Currently she retained only a simple type-1 phaser and translator. And the clothing she'd taken from the Human who'd attempted to rob her when she'd first arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

T'Pol had been on hand, waiting, when the shop opened. From the sign on the outer wall it was the local 'Repair Shop'. Since the building directly across from it was designated 'Machine Shop', it was logical that this one must be devoted to various forms of electronic maintenance and repair, at least in part. She was hardly trained in that specifically but she expected that she would be capable enough to secure a passing employment.

After several minutes, once the shop opened and she engaged in negotiations with the proprietor, two things became discouragingly obvious. First, that the proprietor wasn't especially interested in hiring help to begin with. Second, that the primitive electronics were simply beyond her ability to work with adequately.

It was one thing to be well aware that stone could be fashioned into a working axe head. Quite another to actually fashion an axe head out of stone without some manner of training. Even for someone who would otherwise be well acquainted with keeping and maintaining a phaser weapon. The technological disparity was simply much too far removed.

The Main Trade building didn't require help of any sort either. Nor the Gun Shop, where she found herself in much the same position as the Repair Shop. And the Machine Shop as well.

And…'Grub's'. Which, to her disgust, had turned out to be an eating establishment of some sort. They required no help either, for which she was admittedly relieved.

Doc Abner's Clinic she had supposed might prove fruitful…but after a glance around inside she discovered the minor physical injuries she'd expected were rarely what they serviced. For those she could have offered basic and intermediate medical interventions and earned some measure of pay. Diseases, pharmacology and various internal medicines seemed to be what they primarily attended to, unfortunately. She was entirely unfamiliar with any of that, at least in regards to Humans.

The Fuel Supply was apparently run entirely by the Bunker, and so had no interest in hiring outside help. Nor allowing anyone into the heavily defended building who couldn't establish up front that they intended to purchase fuel.

The 'High Value Salvage Recovery Station' was likewise staffed by personnel from the Bunker. And again it would seem they dealt exclusively in salvage they might be interested in securing for themselves. Things which no one else would likely have an interest in and none of which she was qualified to appraise anyway.

In the process of her exploring the small trade town she'd also happened upon 'Shack Town', nearly hidden in the back behind the various businesses. She recognized what it represented immediately and was well aware that she would likely find herself fighting for a place there if she were unable to secure employment within the next two days.

So she was forced to try the Wreck Haul and the Bungalow itself in the end. And, as she suspected, in both cases she was determined to be attractive by Human standards and, thus, her employment limited to one entirely unacceptable option. From what she had gathered so far, it was the primary occupation of the majority of unmated females in the area. From further statements and remarks in regards to that, the only way one could hope to avoid that was to take a mate. Something every other unmated female in the area competed quite ruthlessly concerning. To the point that she found it unlikely she would be able to compete effectively, were that even an option to begin with.

And even then it would seem _keeping _a mate to be an ongoing struggle for those women. Something that T'Pol found simply staggering.

But the fact remained that she had already determined she would engage in criminal enterprise long before resorting to prostitution or mating with a Human. That much her training and experience with the Ministry of Information had prepared her for well enough. The security in many of these buildings had already shown themselves to be simplistic and primitive, easily bypassed.

So by the time the local star was at its zenith, she remained unemployed. With only two non-criminal options left unexplored. One, to leave the town and seek a place with one of the fortified farming communities in the wilderness, where she suspected she'd find much the same situation awaiting her there.

The other being an option she was almost as reluctant to attempt. While the mechanic had been shown a possible source of intelligence concerning the Bunker, he had already proven as well to be dangerously suspicious. And many of the women in the town had remarked with some displeasure that he remained unmated. Despite their best efforts. Which was suspicious itself, considering the culture here.

But he nevertheless had direct dealings with various cargo transporters and mercenary groups. And so he offered possible access to the _other _option remaining to unmated females, which surprisingly few of them seemed to avail themselves of for some reason.

* * *

><p>Trip was pretty deep in his calculations when she appeared at the garage door. But he hadn't allowed himself to get so deep that he'd miss a potential trade, so he noticed her after a moment.<p>

She was still wearing the same rags she wore last night. The ones Clover had said she'd stolen. And she was still a pretty tall glass of water. Hell, even more so now that he could get a good look at her. Enough that he wondered if it was safe for her to wander around town alone _at all_, even in broad daylight.

He didn't get up, though. Or rush to engage in the hope of trading for greaser work. He already knew she didn't have a vehicle or probably anything to trade if she had.

"Help yah, ma'am?" He asked, pencil and old, faded notebook still in hand. Ready to get back to work after she went away and took her trouble with her.

"I'm looking for work." She said.

He nodded. "I'm not interested, thanks. Wreck Haul's probably where you want to check."

Of course he _was _interested…but only a fool traded for trouble. That kind of trade never came without a price bigger than what was negotiated up front. You dipped your wick one time with any of the ladies around here and you had a friend for life. One that came around every day trying to get her hooks in you and take you for everything else you had that was worth anything. Because you'd already shown you were a sucker.

Trouble on top of trouble, this one.

"Excuse me, that was not my intention." She said, somewhat stiffly.

_And, okay, really? Who the hell was this lady?_

"Not your intention." He mused. "So what's your intention then?"

"I understand you have dealings with…haulers. And mercenaries."

"Only hauler in town today is Romeo." Trip said. "The guy that was here last night. And he's already hired a friend of mine, so I wouldn't appreciate you messin' that up for her. What's a girl like you got to offer anyway?"

"I've had training in security work." She said. "As well as…"

"Training? Where?"

T'Pol hesitated. "In the west. With security forces there, who oversaw the stability of the region…"

"Republic of Texas." He frowned. "Not exactly welcome around here, ma'am. You tried to raid the Bunker a couple of times. Killed a few people…"

"I was not a part of that operation."

_Not part of that operation, huh?_

_Okay…_

"So what's your name?"

"Ellen." She said. After an obvious pause.

"Ellen. Right." Trip said. "Barkeep's name is Ellen, down at the Wreck Haul. That's a funny coincidence. Want to try again?"

Trip watched her closely. And she betrayed not a thing but the fact that she was mulling it over.

"T'Pol." She said, finally.

Trip squinted. "That Russian or something?"

"I couldn't say."

Trip nodded. "Okay, look Tupol. I'm kinda busy, so I'll make this quick. Best thing you can do is turn left and start walking. Until you're out of town. Then keep going for a couple days, just to be sure. You get anywhere near the Bunker looking and talking like that and they're gonna know you're up to no good. And they'll just shoot you. Okay?"

T'Pol stared. But she was at least a little unsteadied by that, he could see.

Maybe. Just a little. She was sure as hell one cool customer, he had to admit.

"I have no intention of seeking trouble…"

"Won't stop 'em from shooting you dead. That's my advice, take it or leave it. You have a nice day, now."

And he went back to his calculations, ignoring her until she went away.

But she didn't. She just stood there. Like his front door was a nice place to just stand around thinking about life and contemplating existence.

So after a while, he sighed and looked up again.

"You need something else?"

She hesitated, but…

"I have nowhere to go. And I find my situation is becoming somewhat desperate."

And, damn.

He could see she nearly tore herself up ripping that out and tossing it at him.

You know, it was really beginning to get a little tiring what a sucker he was…

"Okay." He said, frowning. "So what's your story?"

But…that sounded way too kind…

"Short version. And skip all the crying."

There, that's better.

Her eyes flickered as she tried to arrive at something approximating a 'short version'…

"My associates and I suffered an accident outside of town." She said. "Our vehicle was destroyed and they were killed. I am alone and have no goods for trade."

Well. That was a pretty good short version. So, okay.

"Right." He nodded. Still trying his best to abrupt about the whole thing. "Hold on there."

He got up, putting his pencil and notebook aside on the work table. Then stepped around to dig noisily in the scrap bin on the far side. Until he produced a slightly bent two foot length of lead pipe. Which he offered to her.

"You take that." He said. And when she did…

"Now, go around back. Pick out a nice shack you like, then go in there and use that on whoever's in there. Once you run them off, have a seat in that shack and wait until one of the other haulers rolls into town. Then you hire him for whatever kind of deal you can talk him into. I'll put in a good word for yah. He'll take you out to wherever your friends crashed and he'll help you figure out what you can scavenge there."

She stared at him for a moment, the lead pipe uncomfortable in her hand.

Trip turned away, remaining aware enough in case she decided to use that pipe on _him_, then sat back down in his chair and took up his notebook again.

"If someone got there first, there probably won't be much left." He said, looking over his notes. "Then you'll have to deal with them expecting you to pay for the trip, one way or the other. So you should probably hold on to the pipe."

She just stood there, not reacting at all that he could tell. Of course, he wasn't looking at her anymore. He wasn't about to give her the chance to give him some kind of sad eyes or anything. He'd feel like crap all day if she did.

But, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her place the lead pipe on the empty drum by the door.

"Thank you for your advice, Trip." She said.

And she left.


	4. Chapter 4

T'Pol waited until well after midnight, spending the last few hours meditating before leaving the Bungalow to recon the location. Once assured there was no movement inside, she relocated to the rear of the building to watch from the shadows there for a while. To be sure as well that no one in the so-called 'Shack Town' might spy her breaking into the garage.

She supposed the mechanic's advice may have been sound advice, if given to any of the local inhabitants, and under any other circumstance. As it was, hiring transportation to the crash site and aid in scavenging the remains was out of the question. Because, of course, there was no wheeled combustion-powered vehicle crashed there. Rather, a five-man Vulcan short survey vessel.

But perhaps more to the point, she was simply not desperate enough to consider occupying another person's home by force. Even one of the squalid shacks near at hand. And even if she were, she lacked the ability to procure so much as the daily sustenance required while she waited to hire someone with trade goods she didn't possess.

So it had come to this. Which, while unfortunate, was necessary. And therefore logical enough.

She'd scouted the town the night before, not entirely accepting then that it might prove necessary. Rather simply because she hadn't yet required sleep and lacked anything better to do at the time. But it had at least seemed a remote possibility then. So she'd found that night that the mechanic had left the high window on the side of the garage unlocked. As he had again tonight.

She was careful to enter quietly, not entirely sure how acute the Human's hearing might be. But she managed to climb up, through and down again into the garage without making much noise.

There she waited for a while, remaining still and alert, to see if she'd been detected.

And so she was entirely taken by surprise when she stepped carefully away from the wall, reaching to pull the phaser from her pocket. Because something rustled behind her and slammed into her back before she could even lay a hand on it.

Driven forward into the darkness, she was still completely blind. She hadn't been able to get the phaser out to use the light function, as she'd intended. But hearing whoever or whatever it was that had slammed into her already coming at her again, she stopped stumbling forward and dropped straight to the floor instead. Causing them to trip over her and fall into the opposite wall themselves with a feminine grunt.

Rolling away, painfully impacting something hard and metallic with one leg, she still scrambled quickly to regain her feet, finally pulling the phaser free from her pocket. As she came up, her opponent snarled and rushed back at her in the dark, again too fast for her to react effectively. And again she was pushed off balance, compelled toward the wall before she could manage even to fire blindly. This time something cut painfully across her forearm in the process, as she'd raised her arm instinctively in defense.

There, though, with her back against the wall, she raised the phaser to fire. Forced to hope her hearing was accurate enough that she could target effectively with that sense alone. Because whoever it was attacking her, she was surprisingly fast and agile.

When she heard the sound of a bare foot slide on the floor, as they turned to come at her again, she aimed and fired instantly. In the quick, crimson glare of the beam, she caught the flashing image of something humanoid and pale. An unknown species, snarling and baring her fangs. The fingers of one hand extended as she came forward, as if she meant to rend her physically when she reached her. A large, crude blade of some sort wielded in the other hand.

Plunged again into darkness just as quickly, she was relieved to hear the woman hit the floor a moment later, making barely a sound at having been stunned. The blade fell to ting against the concrete floor, coming to rest at her feet.

In silence, punctuated only by her own breathing, she waited. To be absolutely certain there was no other threat in the room. She'd missed any sound indicating _that _one had been practically right at her feet when she crawled through the window, after all.

But she heard the Human in the next room, moving something hastily across a wooden surface. Then taking two quick steps to the door and throwing it open. So she had plenty of time to take a proper stance and cover the door, ready when he activated a switch there and light filled the garage.

He had a weapon. A thick barreled rifle of some sort, which he hadn't brought to bear yet. So she fired before he could. And he dropped to the floor as well.

* * *

><p>Discouraged at how violent the entire situation had become, and so quickly, she busily reassessed her actions as she searched the house. In the end she could determine nothing more she could have done, as her life was essentially at risk without at least trade goods enough to buy food. Much less renting a secure dwelling of any sort.<p>

Surely she would eventually be able to discover some honorable means of survival. But even that would require a measure of relative 'wealth' with which to maintain herself until such a means could be discovered.

In the Human mechanic's sleeping quarters she found a small plastic box, white and marked with a red symbol, containing bandages and antiseptic. With that she cleaned and dressed the gash on her arm, where the pale one had cut her. That alone proved a surprising and disturbing revelation, as no other species but Humans should have been present on this planet. Other than her, of course. But it did at least open up a whole new realm of possibilities.

Whatever species she represented, they must likewise have come to this planet recently. And so, they might provide an avenue of escape for her as well.

But the open notebook she found on dresser next to the medical supplies was all the more surprising and disturbing. Because the equations the Human had been working on when she spoke to him earlier were in plain evidence now.

They were warp equations. Dealing with a wide variety of warp field displacements and subspace bubble patterns. And all of them, to her quick estimations, entirely accurate.

Even, in some cases, surprisingly efficient.

* * *

><p>The pale one came to first, which was fortunate as that was the one she preferred to question first.<p>

She raised herself up on one elbow, clasping the other hand to her mid-section. Likely somewhat nauseated or experiencing some other lingering discomfort. And so she didn't notice her standing nearby right away.

When she did, she froze. Staring up at her, clearly assessing whether it was wise to attempt another attack. But T'Pol held her phaser ready, hoping the design of the device didn't render it less obviously a weapon. The pale woman did at least seem to recognize the threat, as she elected not to attempt another attack.

"Who are you?" T'Pol asked.

The woman's eyes narrowed and she didn't respond right away. So it was apparent then that this species was likely a highly aggressive one.

"Clover." She said, evenly.

"What species are you and where did you come from?"

Clover's brow furrowed immediately, confused.

"What?"

"Your species. And your home world."

Clover just stared.

"Why are you here?" T'Pol demanded.

"She sleeps here. Sometimes."

"Who?"

She blinked. "Clover."

T'Pol considered. "_You _sleep here, you mean?"

"She said already." Clover frowned, irritated.

"Why are you here, on this planet?"

Clover stared again.

"Answer the question." T'Pol demanded.

"You're a crazy person." Clover said.

Not the expected answer. Or an answer to her question at all, in fact. Which left T'Pol somewhat nonplused.

"What do you know about the warp equations the Human was working on?" She asked, after a moment.

"The what?"

"The warp equations. Subspace patterns and warp field variables."

"That's math stuff. She doesn't know that."

"Who does?"

"Trip."

T'Pol considered that. "The Human here received no aid from you with these calculations?"

"She's a scavenger." Clover said. "She finds trades. In the ruins."

"How did you come to be on this planet?"

Clover hesitated. "She…doesn't remember. Don't know how old she is. Just her parents didn't want her."

There was an obvious breakdown in communication somewhere, T'Pol was suddenly certain. Which rendered the entire exercise futile. Perhaps questioning the Human would prove more enlightening.

She glanced at him, finding him still unconscious, and stepped toward him…

"Don't hurt him!"

T'Pol stopped short at that, surprised.

"I have no intention of harming anyone." She assured. "But I require answers here."

"He won't answer." Clover said. "He'll just get mad. Take your stunner."

"Then I will remain alert."

"Don't hurt him." Clover warned. "We'll _kill _you if you do."

"Who?"

"_You!"_

T'Pol tried again. "When you say 'we', do you refer to yourself or others like you?"

Clover looked confused again. "Muties?"

"The Muties are helping this Human? With the warp equations?"

"She's the only one." Clover said. "Others out there, not here. Except Fern. He died yesterdays."

"Where do the Muties come from?"

"From…from the war." Clover said, uncertainly. "Some people got different."

"Muties…" T'Pol reasoned. "Mutants? The product of a mutagen of some sort?"

"What?"

T'Pol stared now. The conversation was beginning to border the ridiculous.

"I'm going to wake the Human now." She said. "Remain calm. I will not harm anyone if it is not necessary to, and then only in self defense."

"We'll kill you if you hurt him." Clover warned again.

"Then I suggest you help me keep him calm, so that he does not force me to stun him again."

Clover didn't respond to that. She simply watched, still leaning on one elbow, still tensed in preparation to move quickly. So T'Pol remained alert, as she'd said she would.

However…faced with the prospect of rousing the Human, while still keeping the 'mutie' covered with her phaser…

She was forced to resort to nudging him lightly with one foot. Hoping Clover didn't interpret that as an attack.

The Human, unfortunately, did. And so roused enough, with surprising alacrity, to flail out at whatever he supposed was attacking him in his sleep. Which impacted the leg she'd nudge him with, throwing her off balance enough that she stumbled back to the wall to recover.

And thus her aim wavered from Clover. All the prompting she needed to spring forward to attack, even as the Human cast around wildly, still only half aware, trying to determine what was going on.

And she was quick. Very quick. Enough that she had her hands around her throat before she could raise the phaser again. So she attempted to free herself with one hand, struggling and pushing for a few moments against Clover's chest, while pointing the phaser into her at point blank range with the other.

The hands choking her she managed to get free of easily enough, having pushed her away to nearly arm's length. But she hesitated in discharging the phaser. At point blank range, it may well cause serious injury. Perhaps fatally so. And she had not come here to kill anyone, in self defense or otherwise.

But she continued to attempt to overpower her, pushing into her with all her strength, snarling and grasping at her all the while.

T'pol decided her only course was to free herself entirely, as she'd already assured herself that her strength was superior. So with the phaser turned safely to the side, she shoved mightily with one hand against the woman's chest, forcing her to stumble back away again. _Then _grasped the phaser in a steady stance, aimed at her where she now regained her balance, far enough away as not to risk her life if she had to fire.

"Do not move!" T'Pol warned.

"_Drop it!" _Trip yelled, somewhere across the room.

A glance in that direction showed him on his feet now, in possession of the weapon she'd relieved him of earlier. Which he now held aimed at her, however unsteady that aim might be at the moment.

Clover at least did not exacerbate the situation by continuing her assault. She'd taken a half stumbling step to do so, which would have forced T'Pol to fire, but had stopped abruptly when the Human had issued his command.

T'Pol considered the situation quickly. The Human's wavering aim put not only her life but that of the other woman at risk. Perhaps a minimal risk, most of it certainly directed at her…but a risk nonetheless. And so she found herself having almost taken the woman hostage, entirely despite herself.

She was forced to recognize that the situation, from the moment she'd crawled through the window, had deteriorated progressively to the point that lives were now at risk. It seemed she was rapidly reaching a position where even sacrificing her own life to spare others might become her only logical option.

Indeed, she reasoned that perhaps it would have been better to starve than commit herself to criminal activity after all. As she should perhaps have recognized from the beginning.

"It is not my intent to…" She started.

"You drop it, right now. Or I'll blow your goddamned head off." Trip warned.

So then. There was no other logical choice.

She lowered her weapon, released it and let it fall to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Trip stretched his neck a bit, still a little stiff from whatever she'd zapped him with earlier. He'd given the shotgun to Clover, something he normally wouldn't consider doing, when there was someone around she might enjoy shooting with it. But he still didn't trust his aim.

He was kinda tempted to see if she'd give it back if he asked. She was still in feral mode over there, a little, so she might not. But maybe this woman would answer some questions if he punctuated them with a shotgun.

But she just sat there, staring at them. Not saying a word.

"You're not being very smart, you know." He said, arms folded at his chest. "There's nothing stopping me from sending Clover here down to the guard shack and getting a couple of the guys to come get you. Then you can go see that Bunker you're so interested in. Up close and personal."

She just stared, like he was speaking a foreign language or something.

"You wouldn't be _my _problem anymore then." He insisted. "And they'd feed you and take good care of you, if you answered _their _questions. Either way, they'd end up killing you, whether you did or not. Just be a matter of how long until they did and how comfortable you'd be 'til then."

She finally responded somewhat, raising one hand, eyeing Clover warily, to point at the table. At the smaller of the two devices they'd taken from her. Alongside the wool cap Clover had knocked from her head.

"_Bolaya etek ish na'stariben_." She said.

Trip glanced over at the table, then back at her.

"What is that, French?" He asked. "We speak English around here. So how about we don't play games? This is kind of serious."

She just pointed again.

"_Bolau nash-veh ek'mesukh-stari-vel."_

Trip considered the situation for a moment, trying not to show how over his head he was here. He was no interrogator to begin with. And damned if she wasn't sitting there, with a _shotgun _pointed at her head, playing around with him.

He should just call the guards up here and be done with this. Why was he wasting his time here?

"We can hit her." Clover suggested.

Trip jumped on that.

"My friend here's really eager to get some answers out you." He warned. "You're not giving me any reason to hold her back."

She just stared.

Clover growled, frustrated.

"Look, I know you're not from Texas." He said. "Maybe they'd take on a mutie spy or something. Clover here's pretty damned good at her job and the folks in the Bunker have hired her on plenty of times. But they don't have _this _kind of gear."

He gestured at the devices on the table beside him, picking up the one she'd pointed at.

"And neither does anyone in Texas." He said, shaking the device at her for emphasis. "This thing is factory made. Recently, not pre-war."

Her eyes responded now. Something about what he'd just said clicked with her or something.

"_Bolaya etek…_to communicate." She said.

Trip did a double take at that.

Then squinted at her, putting the device back on the table.

"Say again?"

"We require that_ na'stariben." _

He'd put the device down as she spoke…

And her lips had done that thing again. Barely noticeable…but now he could sort of see…

He jerked his attention to the device under his hand, just out of reach.

"Son of a…" He said, suddenly shocked.

Even Clover was looking over curiously, shotgun still pointed at the woman but more interested now in what was going on there than in threatening her.

"What that did?" Clover asked.

He snatched the thing back up to examine it closely. Then reached forward with it, fascinated. Holding the device between them.

"Say something else." He said.

"I can't understand you without it." T'Pol said.

Trip's jaw dropped.

"It's…some kind of translator." He said, wondering. "Can't even hear it…like it's coming right out of her mouth…"

Then his face tightened suddenly.

"Alright, what the hell is going on here?" He demanded.

The woman just raised an eyebrow at him. Like he was stupid or something.

"I'm being interrogated by people who don't speak my language." She said. "And who I can't understand. While under threat, without the benefit of a translator."

He stared at her.

Then straightened up and placed the device carefully on the table again.

Then turned around, stepping away from it, hands on his hips. Thinking.

"Trip?" Clover asked nervously, still keeping her aim on the stranger seated there.

"Hold on." He said, still thinking.

He turned back after a few moments, to stare at her again. Eyes narrowed…then stepped over to pick the translator back up.

"Okay, you understand me now. Right?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Good." He nodded. "Now, the smart thing for me to do is call the guards. Let them take you down to the Bunker and deal with you themselves. So you tell me now why that's not a good idea."

"I would most likely be imprisoned or killed."

"Not my problem." He insisted.

"Then I would tell them nothing and nothing would be gained from it."

"Not a lot different from what's going on here." He pointed out. "And I'm pretty damned impatient right now, so…"

"My ship crashed in the hills to the west." She said. "It is possible it has not yet been discovered."

Trip squinted at her again.

"What ship?"

"The one I arrived here in. If it has not been discovered, then it represents a highly valuable salvage site. One that I am willing to offer a share in, if transportation and security were to be provided in exchange."

He considered that for a moment.

"Where are you from?" He asked. "And don't tell me Texas, because there's no way in hell. You're from overseas somewhere."

She didn't respond to that.

"Look, I can do the math here." He insisted. "You're interested in the Bunker and you're from somewhere way the hell far off. That tells me someone's got a space program going again somewhere. And they're interested in the Phoenix. Enough to send you all the way _here _to get information on it. In an airplane or something, so they must want it pretty damned bad."

He waited a second, in case she had something to say. She didn't.

"The thing is, you're wasting your time. The Bunker doesn't care about the Phoenix anymore. If you want it, then you can either go up there and figure it out yourself…or you can deal with me."

That eyebrow popped up again.

"Deal with you?" She asked, curiously.

"That's right. I don't care who you are or who you work for. If you want the Phoenix, then I'm all for that. More power to yah. No one around here is ever going to fly the damned thing."

She eyed him speculatively. "The other man, Romeo, said you left the Bunker before."

Now it was Trip's turn to say nothing.

"This was concerning the ship in orbit." She guessed.

"Yeah, I was dumb enough to think I might figure a way to get up there." He said, frowning. "But you can look around for five minutes and see that's not ever going to happen. Not from around here."

"You believe that if you aid me, my people will employ you in the interests of reclaiming the ship."

"If they sent you all the way out here, it's because they need warp tech." Trip said. "Or they're just desperate to get a jump start on it. Since I'm probably the only man on the planet who understands it…the only one they're going to find, anyway…I'm betting they'd jump at the chance."

T'Pol regarded him with some surprise.

Trip shrugged. "They can keep trying to send spies into the Bunker if they want. Or mount some kind of overseas invasion trying to take it. But since there's nothing in there that I don't already know, that wouldn't be too smart."

Clover interrupted finally, anxious about it all.

"Trip, what you doing?"

"Getting us a job." He said simply. Staring at T'Pol with his arms folded at his chest again.

"We not gonna shoot her?"

"You want to eat hundred year old canned dog food for the rest of your life, Clover?"

"…no."

"Okay, then."

* * *

><p>Romeo had been looking for Clover all morning, so he was a bit irritated when he finally found her. Running across the lot to his truck, where she should have been waiting for him.<p>

Running like she was late. Which she was.

"Clover! Where the hell have you been?" He yelled. "I don't want to drive in the damned dark tonight because we didn't leave…!"

"Trip said come!" She huffed, out of breath.

Romeo grimaced. "I don't have to time to…"

"It's important!" She said. "Come on!"

The men who'd loaded the truck behind him decided they had an opinion all of a sudden. Irritated themselves after standing around waiting for him to leave.

"Romeo, Boss said to get you out of here before the sun came up."

"Just wait a minute, Hicks." Romeo snapped.

"He's already gonna be pissed!"

Romeo ignored him. "What's the hell's the problem, Clover?"

"Come on!" She said, running off.

He glared after her, glanced back at the men behind him, then glared back at Clover again…she was already turning the corner out of the lot, running full tilt for Trip's place…

_Aw, dammit_.

* * *

><p>Romeo stomped into the garage, having worked himself up to a nice, solid pissed off.<p>

Trip was standing there, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Clover was slinging a pack onto her back. And there were guns on the table.

And that woman, the weird one from the other night. She was standing there. Looking pretty and cool, like everything was just fine.

"Trip! What the hell's going on?" He demanded.

"Hold on." Trip said, scribbling.

That didn't help his pissed off state one bit…

…but that one over there. She had bat ears. And the bandage on her arm was stained a dark green. Where there should have been blood…

"She's a mutie." He said, surprised.

"Yeah." Trip said, still scribbling. Then tore the paper off the pad briskly, handing it to him.

"What's this?"

"Supply req, for the flatbed." Trip said. And he was scooting over to the table to pick up a pack of his own.

"_The flatbed!" _Romeo exclaimed. "What was all that about fuel efficiency before?"

"Gonna need it." Trip replied, sparing him a meaningful look.

_Oh, hell no._

"Okay, _no_." Romeo said. "I've _got _a job. Was supposed to leave at first light."

"Drop it, Romeo. Trust me. You want this one."

"You don't drop a job, Trip! Not ever, no matter what!"

Trip stopped. "Romeo." He said, staring at him pretty hard. "Drop the job. And get the flatbed."

_The hell was going on here? He couldn't just…_

…_and the flatbed…_

He stared at the req form.

…_you could haul a hell of a lot of stuff with that flatbed…_

Romeo looked over at Clover. And she grinned back at him when he did. Excited.

So he considered the req form in his hand again…

"Yeah, okay. Give me fifteen minutes."

"You got ten. Nell's rolling into town any minute. She'll take the job."

* * *

><p>Hicks had worked himself into a nice, solid pissed off by the time Romeo finally came back. And he had that damned mutie with him, which didn't make him any happier.<p>

"Damn it, Romeo!" He yelled. "I'm not taking the heat for this! The Boss asks why you were so late leaving and I'm gonna tell him!"

"Unload the truck." Romeo said.

Which…couldn't have been what he said. Because that didn't make any sense.

"What do you mean…?"

"Unload it. Off. Let's go." Romeo said.

And he was marching right past him…with that mutie right on his heels…

And starting to grab crates out of the cargo…

"What the hell are you doing?" Hicks exclaimed.

"You want this stuff, you better pitch in." Romeo said, not bothering to look back. "If I gotta unload by myself, I'll wait and just toss it when I get on the road."

"It took a half hour to load all that, Romeo! Why the hell do you need to unload…?"

"Dropping the job."

Hicks stared, astonished.

"You can't drop…!"

Romeo was in his face all of a sudden. Like he'd teleported there or something.

"You got two seconds to start getting your crap off my truck or I'm leaving with it and you can pick it up on the side of the road."

Hicks stared, not making sense of that.

Then he got mad.

"You try to drop this job and you won't get another one, Romeo." He warned.

And Romeo smirked at him.

"I drop this job in the next five minutes and I may not _need _another one."

He turned back to help Clover, who was already dropping crates haphazardly to the ground over there.

"_Your _job, though…" He said. "If you want to keep it, your boss'll probably want this stuff back."

It took a minute for Hicks to process all that. But Romeo was _serious_…

He was actually dropping the damned job. And the crates. Right on the ground.

So as much as he hated it, and as much as he knew the Boss was gonna have his hide over it, he had his men unloading those crates. _Without _dropping them all over the place. In time for them to have finished and Romeo to have driven off again when Nell rolled up in her hauler.

She pulled up alongside them, leaning out the window to look things over. Seeing them standing there looking lost, with a pile of crates on the ground next to them.

So she grinned.

"That looks like a job there." She observed, happily.

Hicks wasn't as slow as most people thought he was, though.

"Can you get to Salt in twelve hours?" He asked quickly.

"Darlin', you pay me right and I can get there yesterday."

He'd grabbed the first one to start loading it before she finished. Because, unlike Romeo, he really wanted to keep his damned job.


	6. Chapter 6

"…fifty-kay methanol still, four two hundred liter drums, eight hundred liters methanol, ten-kay generator, small freezer, small fridge, portable heater…"

The Human paused to take a breath…

"Four HE suits, four full sensor binoculars, security rig, bio/chem threat sensor, Geiger counter, field medical…"

He finally stopped abruptly and looked up from the supply req, raising both eyebrows.

"Is this a joke, Trip?"

"No, Johnson. Just gearing up for a salvage run."

"What are you scavenging? The Columby ruins?"

Trip frowned at the Human supply clerk. "The truck's running, you know."

And it was, T'Pol could still hear. Even inside the Main Supply building. Burning what she had come to assume must be extremely valuable fuel as it sat in the street outside. Burning it in a very loud and obnoxiously pungent manner. Hence her volunteering to aid in securing the supplies.

Johnson frowned. "This is half my stock. Half my high value gear, anyway."

"I'm good for it. Check the credit log."

"I know." Johnson agreed. "But you won't have much left after all this."

"That's fine."

Johnson just kept frowning, eyeing Trip dubiously. Until he frowned back.

"If you're that damned curious, Johnson, grab a gun and jump on the truck. You can come along…"

"No, no. Never mind." He said. "Just…Colonel Hadley's gonna think you're moving to another town or something..."

"Well, just remind her what I do and where I do it isn't her business anymore."

Johnson nodded and turned to start filling the order.

"Not getting in the middle of that one, thanks. I'll just tell her you're invading New England."

* * *

><p>Eventually Trip stepped back to her, after verifying the second pallet of goods matched his order. The man pushing the wheeled platform that transported the pallet now free to move it through the large door and out into the street, where Clover and Romeo would start loading it.<p>

They waited for the third and final pallet to appear, so he could check it as well.

T'Pol had donned her wool cap again, pulled down carefully to cover her ears. And she wore a jacket that Clover had produced for her, in order to hide the wound on her arm. That much she was thankful for. Not only because it hid the otherwise obvious signs that she was not Human…a 'mutie', as everyone seemed to assume…but also because it was actually warm. Which was quite welcome after so many days on this chilly planet.

Likewise the body armor she now wore, being part of the first pallet of supplies. Some form of thin, pliable undershirt utilized by law enforcement in the past. Designed, she was disturbed to learn, specifically to protect against lead projectiles. Fired from ballistic weapons, powered by gunpowder combustion.

It also helped to keep her more comfortably warm, but the constant reminder of the savage culture and barbaric nature of the conflict that seemed to so routinely occur here…it all remained somewhat unsettling.

So, too, the weapons all of them now carried so openly. Which she had been alarmed by, at first. That it would be allowed, in an otherwise relatively settled area. But, as it happened, Trip's status as a local business proprietor granted him that privilege. And the fact that he still seemed to enjoy some measure of influence from his prior status as an officer in the Bunker.

She'd refused the sidearm when it had been offered to her, though. As well as the automatic rifle.

"You're gonna need something besides that fancy stunner." He'd argued.

"My…stunner will be sufficient."

"If we run into trouble, it'll be with raiders. They don't play around."

"I won't kill unless it is necessary."

"It'll be necessary."

But she'd refused, of course. The ballistic weapons were loud, savage and primitive. And they lacked anything resembling a non-lethal setting. They were designed entirely to kill and maim. And brutally at that.

So as they waited for the final delivery, she took the opportunity to question him. Attempting to prepare herself for the journey. It had become obvious that the day ahead was met with both excitement and dread by the Humans, in that they expected to encounter danger.

"Other than raiders, what other threats can we expect to encounter?" She asked.

"Just people, mostly." Trip said. "Maybe some animals, if you wander around. Which I wouldn't suggest. People, though, anyone outside of town, that's always trouble."

"I see."

"'Stranger danger'. You'll hear that phrase a lot around here."

T'Pol searched his face for any clue on that one.

"What does it mean?" She asked.

"About what you expect it means. 'Stranger danger'; if it's a stranger, then you're in danger. It means don't stop and talk to people. Don't slow down if you come up on someone who looks like they need help. If someone runs across the road with their hair on fire, you drive _faster_. Run 'em _over_, if you can. You get the picture."

T'Pol considered that for a moment.

"That is not logical." She decided.

Trip looked surprised. "How do you figure that?"

"There is greater security in mutual cooperation. This trade town stands as an obvious example of that."

Trip thought for a moment.

"No, this town stands as an example that anyone outside it ain't part of it. Because they're dangerous. Otherwise they'd be living _here_. Instead of out there on the road."

"Perhaps they were unable to join the community because this philosophy of yours precludes it."

"Nothing stopping them from walking right in, just like you did." Trip argued. "Or they could just start their own. There's a trade town halfway between here and Texas called Salt. Popped up two years ago when some folks figured out there was an old salt mine there. They got together, built a wall around it and opened trade. They're doing pretty good, last I heard. And that's how you know they aren't raiders who want to kill you and loot your corpse."

"You have remarked before that it is currently impossible to regain access to space and orbit, specifically to the Phoenix." She said, earning his immediate attention. "I suggest this 'stranger danger' approach of yours is largely the cause of that. It stifles social progress, and thus technological progress."

"Well, maybe." He agreed. "But it makes living past the next day or two a lot more likely. Which is kind of a necessary prerequisite to all that, don't you think?"

T'Pol contemplated that.

"And since we're talking about all this." He said. "Didn't you walk something like fifty miles just to get here? How is it you didn't figure all this out yourself? You had to have run into some of the trouble we've been talking about."

"Actually, I encountered nothing at all." She said. "My first encounter with any dangerous stranger occurred after I arrived here. A man attempted to accost me in the street, demanding my belongings. I was forced to render him unconscious."

Trip snorted, amused. "Well." He said. "That's ironic."

"If existence here is as you say…then I suppose it would be."

"Well, it is." Trip insisted. "I guess you'll have to figure that out the hard way. But that kind of leads me to that other question."

T'Pol looked over at him. "Which question?"

"Where the hell are you from and what's the weather like on your planet?" He said. "Because I shouldn't have to tell you any of this, much less argue with you about it."

T'Pol considered ignoring the question again, as she had every other time he'd asked it. And she'd long since come to realize the reference to planetary weather patterns to be less a guess at her true origin as a form of caustic humor. Indeed, it had startled her the first time he'd said that. But, thankfully, his following remarks made it clear he still assumed her to be a 'mutie'. So she'd managed to refrain from actually acknowledging the fact that she was, indeed, from another planet.

But at that, she decided now to answer for some reason. Perhaps so that he would stop asking. And startling her with unrealized claims at her extraterrestrial origin.

Consulting her memory of recent interactions with him, she suddenly discerned a means by which she might deflect the inquiry with greater success than she had previously. She hadn't benefited from the translator at the time, but she'd understood the context in which the word had been used well enough…

"French." She said. And left it at that.

Trip paused, surprised at her answer. As she suspected he would be.

"You're from French." He said. Just to clarify.

"That is correct."

He paused again.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes." She said, confidently.

He nodded. "Okay."

And she waited…

"Because, see, 'French' is a language, not a place." He said.

So T'Pol pretended to reconsider her answer…

"Where do they speak this language primarily?" She asked.

"France." Trip said.

"Then I'm from France." She said.

After a moment, having turned to stare at the floor, he laughed quietly.

He didn't ask again, or follow up with any further remark. So her use of ironic humor to deflect the question was successful. And while it wouldn't normally be considered appropriate behavior, she was sure it was logical nonetheless. Considering the situation.

* * *

><p>The Humans were in high spirits at the moment, she noted. They continued to vacillate between states of confident humor and grim apprehension as they loaded the supplies aboard the transport. So, as she took a break, since the cut on her arm had limited how much aid she could offer with the heavier equipment, she watched them work up on the flatbed. And socialize with one another.<p>

"So that's two muties now." Romeo was saying, as he hefted some form of protective covering over the methanol still, now bolted to the flatbed.

"Yeah, so?" Trip said.

"So what is it with you and mutie girls?" Romeo asked, grinning. "You've got 'em running from all over."

Trip grinned back, as he lashed the covering into place. "I guess I just attract exotic women."

Romeo stopped for a moment, confused.

"What's 'exotic' mean?"

"Means trouble." Trip said, tying the last line into place.

"Well, you should attract some of those Federation girls then, damn it."

"You like the prairie gals, do yah?"

"They like me!" Romeo laughed. "Girls love haulers."

"Is that right?" Trip grinned.

"We drive big trucks. We go interesting places. Bring 'em nice things. Hell, yeah, they love us!"

"If you'd bring me that drum so I can tie it down, I might like you a little better myself."

Romeo turned to grab the drum, turning it over and kicking it to roll it up the flatbed toward him.

"And there you go, getting all serious again." He complained.

"Let's just get this done and get on the road. People around here are starting to get too curious about what we're up to here. We don't want competition."

"They won't get there any quicker than we will, I can promise you that. Unless they got four wheelers or something."

"That's kind of what I'm worried about. Fifty miles isn't that far through the hills. But it's going to take us a whole day to work our way around there in this truck. I don't want to find half the scavengers in town camped out when we get there."

"I've got a sixty in that turret. Put Clover on that thing and let her have some fun."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid." Trip said, sternly.

"Well, I hope you don't think you're gonna." He argued. "There's a raider ambush on the road outside of town. Always is, anyway."

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"Might not be on a bridge, though…"

"Figure of speech, Romeo."

T'Pol could see they'd loaded and secured nearly everything. So she turned to enter the truck and wait to leave.

And found Clover standing behind her. Waiting. She didn't waste time getting to the point.

"She don't trust you." Clover said.

In light of the violent altercation they'd had just that morning, T'Pol considered that was not entirely surprising. She still had the cut on her arm to remind her of it.

"I understand." She said, simply.

Clover didn't seem to appreciate the acknowledgment, though.

"She don't like you, neither."

"That is unfortunate."

Clover's eyes narrowed, somehow finding offense at her continued assurances.

"We'll cut you again if we have to."

"I'll endeavor to ensure that does not become necessary."

Clover's eyes narrowed even more.

"We'll cut you _deeper_."

"I suspected as much."

Clover glared for a couple of seconds, to be sure the point had been communicated sufficiently.

"Trip's her friend. Only one she got."

And that time she didn't attempt to emphasize the point with further threats or glaring. She turned and scaled up the side of the truck smoothly, out of sight almost immediately. As if she hadn't meant to say that and fled the reality that she had.

T'Pol watched her go. Impressed at the agility and speed she'd yet again demonstrated. And suppressing some anxiety as well.


	7. Chapter 7

The truck traveled west out of Scraptown, jumping off the dirt road just a few miles out, onto the remains of Interstate 20. There the scattered husks of abandoned vehicles rusted to either side of the highway, having long since been cleared out of the way. And, of course, looted in the process. Down to even individual bolts and strips of metal in many cases.

To anyone observing them pass by, it would have been an intimidating sight. The hauler was large, loud and sported plenty of spiky bits here and there, entirely to give it an intimidating presence. The heavy armor everywhere making it all the more something one would best steer clear of. And the obvious machine gun mounted on top, itself very well armored, sealed the deal.

The whole thing promised a messy end to anything dumb enough to get in its way.

The flatbed it hauled, though. That would have made anyone looking on covetous. It was a mobile smorgasbord, promising wealth beyond measure. Almost enough to make one seriously consider taking on the truck hauling it.

If one were desperate enough. Or crazy enough.

Inside the truck, seated in the rear compartment, Trip spoke loudly over the drone of the engine, indicating various points on the map to the mysterious woman from 'France' who sat beside him.

"Alright." He yelled. "We're about ten miles or so outside Augusta, so our rear's covered. No one goes there or even gets too close if they can help it. There's a lake and a lot of wetlands to the north, so we're covered there, too."

He moved his finger along the line indicating the road they were on, westward on the map.

"Along this stretch, that's probably where we're going to run into trouble." He yelled. "Raiders like to camp out on roads like this, leading in and out of trade towns. For obvious reasons. It's a good bet we'll run up on a gang of 'em and they'll be looking for exactly what we've got here. A big truck with a lot of cargo."

Trip turned his attention to her, to be sure she was paying attention. And looked her right in the eye, to be sure she took him seriously.

"Now, when that happens, Clover will be on the gun up top." He said. "She'll focus on any vehicles on the road, if it's a pursuit. If we're looking at a roadblock, she'll provide suppressing fire and Romeo'll probably just ram through it, if it looks like he can. Whether we have to stand and fight, or get into a running battle on the road, Clover will do most of the damage either way."

"_Your_ job is right there and there." He said, pointing at the slit on the door near her. The only thing remaining of what was once a window, now sealed in plate steel. And another on the rear of the compartment, overlooking the flatbed outside.

"You shoot anything you see out there." He said. "Doesn't matter that much if you hit it. You probably won't if we're moving. The point is to give them something more important to worry about than catching up to us or getting up on the truck with us. That's suppressing fire. Now, do you think you're little stun gun can handle that?"

"It can." She assured. "I can provide accurate fire up to one hundred meters."

Trip squinted. "You sure about that? I can't see any kind of stun gun…"

"It is a very advanced weapon." She insisted.

He wasn't happy with that but…she'd been pretty stubborn about using anything else, so there wasn't much point in arguing _that _again.

"Alright, if you say so. But it had better, because if it comes to that then lives will be on the line here."

She didn't say anything to that, though. So he was kind of forced to leave it alone. But he frowned at her some more. Just to be sure she got the message he wasn't exactly happy.

"Okay. So if we get through all that, then we'll go on down I-20, almost to Atlanta." He said, returning to the map. "Maybe about thirty miles short before we can take the road up past Rust. That's a nice little trade town, but we're not stopping there. Romeo says they've cleared the road all the way up toward New England territory, since they like to trade with them so much. We'll use that to swing us around…here."

He pointed on the map, to a spot close to where she'd indicated her plane had crashed.

"From there we just hike over." He said. "Probably take a couple of days at least to salvage the site, depending on what's there. We'll use the four-wheeler and a little trailer I'll put together when we get there. The main concern there will be…"

"Excuse me." She said, over the roar of the engine. "The route you describe poses considerable delay. Is it necessary to approach the site in such a circuitous manner?"

"Best we can do. Not too many roads are clear and we need the truck to haul anything out of there."

"Can we not make camp at a greater distance and use the four-wheeled cycle to access the site from another point? One closer to our current position?"

"Yeah, no problem." He frowned. "Riding through ten or twenty miles of hills and forest on a four-wheeler sounds like a lot of fun. That's a good idea."

She stared back at him for a moment, searching him.

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Look, we need to get the truck as close as possible to the site." He said. "If we can get within sight of it, that would be fantastic. But regardless, we want Clover covering us on the sixty as much as she can. Because the second we crank up the four-wheeler, everything and everyone in a twenty mile radius is gonna know about it."

"The vehicle is especially loud?"

"Not as much as the truck but it runs at a higher pitch. It tends to carry. A lot. And there's not much I can do about that."

"Then you expect further conflict to result. While we are in the process of salvaging the wreckage."

"Yeah, maybe. But if anyone comes looking for trouble, they'll probably have to come up the road. And Romeo will be sitting there with the truck, so they'll have to get past Clover before they can get to us."

She nodded. "I see."

"Understand I'm just dealing with worst case scenarios here. Maybe it'll all be fine and nothing will happen. Just want to be prepared in case it does."

"I understand. That is wise and I agree."

"Okay." He said. "So what can you tell me about what we're going to find at the site?"

She searched him again, as if unsure what he was asking.

"I mean, are there going to be a lot of bodies? Fuel spilled and soaked into the ground? I'm thinking about possible hazards when we get there. I've got gear to cover all that but I'll need to know to bring it with us."

She hesitated, but…

"Four bodies. But I cremated the remains before I left."

"You mean you burned them?"

"Yes. Of course."

_Oh. Crap._

"Was there a lot of smoke?" He asked, wincing.

She didn't answer right away.

"Look, if you burned them there would have been smoke. You said there wasn't any fire from the crash itself…"

"There was very little smoke."

"What kind of wood did you use? These are pine forests. Pine smoke doesn't dissipate too quick…"

"I did not use wood."

_Say what?_

"How did you…? You didn't use fuel from the plane, did you?"

"No. And it is not relevant. There was little smoke and no danger that I marked my position inadvertently to anyone observing."

"How'd you burn them then?"

"I used an incinerator."

"What kind?"

"A hand-held incinerator." She said, simply.

Trip squinted at her.

"What _kind_?" He asked again.

She frowned at him. "A French model."

He huffed. Because that wasn't funny.

"Okay, is there a reason you're trying not to answer me here?"

"Yes."

Trip ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated.

"Look…"

"There was little smoke and no one was alerted to the crash site. Nothing beyond that is relevant here."

"Of course it's relevant! If there…"

"It is _not _relevant. You are simply being curious. And I would prefer not to answer."

Trip stopped arguing and thought that over. Because he'd already learned getting upset and demanding didn't work with her. She just buttoned up more.

You had to _reason _with this woman. So…

"Kinda hard to do this if you're keeping secrets all over the place."

"An unfortunate necessity."

He paused again. And thought through that one for a while, considering her.

He really was just being curious, now that he thought about it. And whatever she'd used probably wasn't that important. But the fact that she kept it and didn't want to share it was still an issue here…

"Is it?" He asked. "A necessity, I mean? Because…let me remind you…you broke into my house this morning. And you shot me and Clover with that stun gun of yours. But now here we are, about to drive through who knows what trouble, to help you out."

T'Pol's eyes shifted a bit. So he knew he'd struck a nerve at least.

"And, yeah, we're expecting a cut of the salvage, sure. But I think this would go a whole lot smoother if we all trusted each other just a little bit, don't you? I'm sure there are secrets you have to keep, and that's fine…but I'm sure there are lots you _don't_ have to keep. Am I right?"

It was her turn to think things over now. So once she had, she took a breath, pretty obviously not wanting to say what she was about to.

"My stun gun." She said. "It possesses variable settings. One of which cycles a nadion particle beam to an intensity high enough to disintegrate organic matter."

It took him a second to catch up to that.

Then he gawked a bit.

"Wha…are…_that _little thing?" He exclaimed.

"Yes."

"You'd need a plasma emitter as big as this truck to generate nadion particles in the first place! Never mind burning anything with 'em!"

T'Pol nearly jerked in surprise. Obviously having assumed he wouldn't understand the particulars of what she'd said.

"I…was unaware you were familiar…"

"There's no way that thing can fire a nadion particle beam." He insisted. "Let me see it."

"Absolutely not." She frowned.

"You're not about to convince me you've got a nadion generator in your damned pocket, Tupol." He warned.

"It is 'T'Pol'." She said, attempting desperately to distract him for a moment. "A contracted proper noun…"

"Fine. T'Pol." He snapped. "Now let me see the damned thing."

She stiffened up again. And her eyes went cold.

"Respectfully, no. I will not."

So things got tense. Real quick.

And they stared hard at one another for a few seconds. Each trying hard to figure a way to get a handle on the other…

From above, slightly muffled and nearly drowned out by the engine, Clover broke in.

"Trip?" She said.

He kept glaring at T'Pol. Because if she really did have a nadion generator…

Well, she didn't. She just couldn't. That was impossible. But why she'd lie so outrageously about it…that was what he needed to know here…

"Trip!"

"Busy here, Clover." He said, still glaring. "What is it?"

"Got troubles."

That pulled his attention away instantly. And he jerked his head toward the turret up front, where Clover's legs were the only thing visible.

"Whatcha got?"

"Raiders, we think." Clover called down. "She missed them. Back there on the road."

He darted forward to peer up at Clover in the turret. She was turned around, aiming the gun back behind them.

"How many, how far?"

"Maybe a hundred miles. Two of them. Car and a bike."

_A hundred…? Oh, right. So who knows how far back. _

_Dammit, Clover…_

"Keep 'em covered." He said, dropping back to the seat to grab his rifle. Taking position at the gun port on his side, he peer through to get a look himself. A car and a bike, just like she'd said. Coming up fast about a mile back.

"Dig around in that case, on the floorboard." He said, not taking his eyes from the port. "My side. Give me a pair of binoculars."

T'Pol moved quick enough, rummaging around behind him while took his attention from the road just long enough to check his weapon. And thumb off the safety.

When she handed him the binoculars, he took a closer look at their pursuers…

Forward pivot mounted machine gun, on the passenger side on that car. So there was a gunner there. Light armor all around, but they didn't know how to protect the radiator very well. Just a thin metal sheet with thick slits cut out of it to allow some air flow. Tires weren't protected at all, but the car rode low to compensate.

Bike was standard. Gun mounted on the front, probably a submachine gun or something. Just for harassment, not anything even pretending to be accurate.

But the car…it had eight inch, thick iron blades sticking out to the sides from the front bumper.

Tire killers.

Trip lowered the binoculars and squinted a bit, considering things. They'd catch up in about thirty seconds at the rate they were moving…

He frowned. "You know, it'd sure be nice if you really did have a nadion particle beam weapon in your pocket."

"Why?" She asked, from the other side of the truck.

"Because we got trouble, alright."


	8. Chapter 8

**Interstate 20, West  
><strong>**_(Twenty miles east of Atlanta Ruins)_**

T'Pol drew her phaser and took position at the firing port on her side, peering through to assess the threat herself.

Two vehicles, one apparently nothing more than a seat balanced atop two wheels. That vehicle caught her immediate attention. That anyone would attempt to engage in vehicular combat upon such a thing…

In fact, that anyone would dare _ride _such a thing at all, especially at such high speeds, was simply astounding.

She winced and ducked suddenly, raising one hand instinctively as a huge noise erupted all around her. She realized then that Clover had begun firing the large weapon on the top of the hauler.

It was loud. Almost painfully so. She could _feel _the sound of it impacting her chest…

And something began to ting loudly and rapidly along the wall of the compartment, from the outside. Projectiles, striking with tremendous force. Return fire from the similar weapon mounted within the larger vehicle pursuing them.

She looked back through the port, long enough to see the two-wheeled rider coming alongside…then jerked back again when projectiles lanced too near the port itself. Of course, she realized then, that was exactly their purpose. As Trip had said, it was suppressing fire, designed to discourage her from risking return fire herself.

But Trip began firing then, in the same compartment with her, just barely beyond arm's reach. Though the weapon he fired seemed to be somewhat more advanced than those she'd seen up to now…perhaps something he'd brought up with him from the Bunker…it was still uncomfortably loud. Enough that it forced her to pause a moment more to overcome _that _assault before taking to the firing port again.

There she could see the dual-wheeled rider had nearly pulled alongside the corner of the flatbed, on her side. And the large gun on the other vehicle continued to fire on them from further behind, perhaps little more than fifty yards away. Most of those projectiles impacted and caught within the short wall of sandbags lashed across the rear section of the flatbed. But enough of them still impacted the wall around her that it presented a significant danger…

"Now would be a good time to shoot, T'Pol!" Trip yelled beside her, still firing short bursts himself.

Of course. The situation, most especially the sudden sensory overload it threatened, had caused her to delay too long already.

She took aim through the port, at the front of the larger vehicle. An internal combustion engine, such as that one utilized, would have to be mounted either in the front or rear. Taking up all or most of the space there.

With her thumb, still aiming carefully against the mild swaying of the truck, she dialed the power on the phaser up. As far as it would go…

And fired. Just as Romeo jerked sharply to the right, in the attempt to discourage the dual-wheeled rider from darting forward and coming alongside the flatbed.

So the beam struck the forward hood of the vehicle, rather than the front facing. And lanced off into the air harmlessly after barely scouring a smoking path across that.

It did at least cause the driver to swerve wildly for a moment. And Trip to stop firing to gape at her in surprise.

Even Clover stopped shooting for a moment…

But the dual-wheeled rider took advantage of everyone's surprise, to come alongside and bring his feet up onto his vehicle. Balancing it precariously, crouching atop it rather than sitting. Shocking T'Pol with his very obvious intention of _leaping _onto the flatbed.

She pulled the phaser up, observing the settings…then thumbed them down quickly, before taking to the port again…finding him just beginning his leap…aiming carefully…

As Clover began firing again from above, and Trip turned back to his firing port to resume combat himself, she fired along with them. And struck the man in mid-air.

Admittedly, a surprisingly good shot. Extremely fortunate.

Except that the man fell smoking to the flatbed, unmoving. Because she'd apparently failed to dial the setting on the phaser fully to a mere stun effect.

She'd inflicted unnecessary harm. Perhaps even killing the man.

That caused her to freeze for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed.

Because she'd never killed anyone before.

Except…she didn't _think _she had…maybe…she almost remembered something…

"Keep shooting!" Trip yelled.

T'Pol blinked. And shook her head clear quickly. Contemplations would have to wait until after their safety had been assured.

So she dialed the phaser back up again and looked out the firing port. Aiming again at the larger vehicle, as projectiles from above and beside her continued pouring out against it. And return fire continued to dimple the wall in front of her. Hundreds of threatening dimples in the thick metal, all around her.

She fired again. And failed to pierce through the armor to the engine. The beam slicing along the front face of the vehicle, up across the hood and lighting on the turret there instead. Immediately in front of whoever must be manning it from the passenger side of the vehicle.

But there at least it struck something that proved helpful. Because sparks and small explosions erupted immediately. And the gun fell silent.

"_She got it! She got it!" _Clover screamed from above.

The raider swerved, threatening to spin out of control before he managed to straighten up again. But there was no further incoming fire from his vehicle.

Trip continued to fire on it, seemingly all the more aggressively. And Clover turned her attention from firing on the front window area of the vehicle to firing instead at the road before it. Possibly attempting to damage the tires.

As she watched, considering whether and where to fire next, the driver of the vehicle seemed to realize at last the only logical choice available to him. With an audible screeching sound, he decelerated rapidly, turning sharply once he'd slowed enough to do so safely.

And so was quickly left behind, where he'd come to a smoking halt in the middle of the road.

* * *

><p>They continued onward several more miles before stopping alongside the interstate. To be sure there would be no further pursuit to contend with.<p>

As soon as the truck came to a complete stop, Trip swung open the armored door on his side and leapt to the ground, his weapon still in hand. Somewhat shaken from it all, T'Pol did the same, with Clover already crawling carefully out of the turret housing to follow them.

Outside Trip climbed quickly up onto the flatbed, forcing her to do so as well in order to see what he intended. But once there it was obvious he was assessing the cargo for damage. Quickly, in case anything needed immediate intervention.

Romeo appeared alongside, standing on the road to lean up on the flatbed.

"Hey, Trip!" He said. "Duct tape, in the first locker there."

Trip stopped and turned to rummage in the steel locker bolted to the front of the bed. There he produced a roll of gray adhesive tape, which he tossed to Romeo. Who then jogged off with it toward the sandbag emplacement in the rear.

On hand, still a little shaken and unsure what she should be doing, T'Pol did her best to ignore the corpse still laying there. No more than twenty feet away from her.

"What do you need me to do, Trip?" She said.

She found the slight tremor in her voice entirely unacceptable. And he glanced over at her, clearly having recognized and understood that she was…disturbed. A little.

"Just keep that ray gun of yours handy." He grinned, speaking calmly. "We're safe now. Just patching things up a little."

And T'Pol found herself amazingly relieved by that somehow. As if that simple assurance had validated her in some way.

Clover suddenly dropped out of nowhere, onto the flatbed near her. Having leapt from atop the truck, she had to assume.

"Clover, check those fuel drums…" Trip said.

"Fuel drums. Got it."

Clover set about unfastening the Kevlar tarp from the drums to inspect them for damage. While Trip drew a multi-tool of some sort from his belt to adjust something on the still that must have been knocked loose. Romeo, she could see, was applying the adhesive tape in large quantities to halt the flow of sand from the sandbags in the rear, where projectiles had pierced them.

Finding herself the only one not engaged in anything productive, T'Pol drew her phaser again. It was what everyone seemed to assume she should be doing. Watching for threats and protecting them as they worked. But that only served to attempt to draw her attention to the corpse again. To the man she'd killed with that same phaser.

Clover was looking at the man, though. So T'Pol watched her instead. So she wouldn't have to look at him herself…

"Hey, Trip?" Clover said.

"Yeah."

"Guy's not dead there."

T'Pol's attention leapt to the corpse…and found the man moving. Only slightly, weakly. Attempting to crawl away from them…

"Son of a bitch." Trip muttered, flashing past her to go after the man.

Romeo likewise stopped what he was doing abruptly, dropping the tape onto the road in order to vault up onto the flatbed. Both of them moved quickly over to the man there, who stopped moving again once they'd approached. He rolled over onto his back to face them, in obvious pain. Groaning.

T'Pol started moving in that direction before she realized it. Or even understood what she intended to do when she got there.

"No. Don't do that." Clover said, evenly.

So she stopped, looking back at her. Seeing the warning on her face. Not a threat, exactly, just…a warning.

But T'Pol turned back and approached the men. Because she couldn't do otherwise.

Trip and Romeo were standing over him, looking down on him. And he looked back up at them as he lay there. T'Pol approached closely enough to see that the wound she'd inflicted had cauterized, at least. So it was possible the man might survive.

So she approached no further than that.

The beam had struck his thigh and traveled up across his stomach. So he must be in significant pain, and would likely require several weeks worth of extensive medical treatment in order to recover. If he recovered at all.

But for now he required a pain suppressant of some sort more than anything else. And first aid intervention, in case of continuing damage associated with the injury…

"There is a medical kit in the truck." T'Pol said. "I'll get it. Do not elevate his legs. He has suffered an abdominal injury."

"T'Pol…" Trip said, looking over at her. Staring.

"He requires a pain suppressant. And he is undoubtedly in shock." She said, already turning to return to the truck.

"T'Pol…" He said again.

But there was no time for discussion. The man required first aid, as soon as possible.

"T'Pol!" He yelled.

So she stopped and looked back.

But he was only staring at her again.

"There is little time." She said, urgently. "He may succumb to shock before his injuries are treated."

He just stared at her. As if he didn't understand what she was saying.

Until she began to suppress frustration. Because there was little time to waste.

Then he nodded lightly.

"Okay." He said, quietly. "You go do that."

So she did. Turning quickly to leap down and return to the truck, climbing back up into the rear compartment. She grabbed the green bag stuffed beneath the seat there. Manipulating the zipper fastening open, digging desperately for the medical kit within. Because there was little time.

Finding it and taking it in hand in time to hear the shot ring out.

* * *

><p>She held onto the medical kit as she sat and waited. Some vague part of her hearing the Humans return to the truck. Climb in. Seat themselves again. The truck's engine activated and the vehicle beginning to move.<p>

But she remembered now. Remembered Jossen. That she had killed him, never truly knowing if he'd even posed a threat to her.

And that she'd dishonored his memory by burying it. Spending _months _of her life in the pursuit of that, at P'Jem. Forgetting him. As if his life was nothing more to her than a discomfort to be disposed of. As the wounded Human, presumably now dead on the side of the road behind them…just as he had been disposed of.

Something cracked lightly somewhere. And T'Pol realized after a moment that she'd grasped the medical kit too tightly. That she'd fractured the case.

Gazing at it mindlessly, some part of her recognized that it wouldn't close securely anymore, now that it had been broken. That seemed unfortunate. And she wondered idly if the Humans would disapprove of her carelessness.

She looked over at Trip, seated across from her. In case he intended to frown at her for what she'd done. But he was…slumped against the armored door there. One hand raised to cover his face. Looking very fatigued.

With sharp, nearly painful, clarity she realized he'd been the one who'd killed the man. And that he was suffering largely the same reaction to that as she had in killing Jossen.

Guilt. And despair.

Or perhaps some Human equivalent of that.

And suddenly her own guilt seemed lessened. And she was moved by his.

"The spear in the other's heart is the spear in your own." She said, softly.

She hadn't intended to say it. And it had fallen halfway from her lips before she fully realized it. But it had been said, and it was appropriate enough.

Trip sighed softly. And his face tightened beneath his hand.

His voice was hard and cold as well. "Is that supposed to be some kind of goddamned poetry?"

T'Pol saw that Clover was staring back at her from the front compartment of the truck. Just watching her. Not threateningly, for a change.

"Perhaps." She said, returning Clover's gaze.

Trip snorted. And, looking back at him, she could see his face had softened a little again.

And he removed his hand, revealing the pain there to both she and Clover.

"French poetry?" He asked.

"Of course."

And he smirked mildly, considering that for a moment.

Then suddenly called out. "Romeo."

"Yeah?"

"Just so you know, I got girls back here reciting poetry at me." He said. "_French _poetry."

"Yeah, screw you, Trip!"

And he grinned, winking at her.

His eyes were blue, like Andorian ice. And they were still filled with pain, despite his humor.

But he grinned and winked at her nonetheless. Which she supposed was acceptable.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rust Road North**  
><strong><em>(Thirty miles northeast of Atlanta Ruins)<em>**

Romeo pulled the truck off the road carefully, turning slightly to cast the one good headlight he had out over the dark field there. With a sharp hiss and squeal, he engaged the brakes and came to a full stop, leaving the engine running.

Clover climbed up out of the turret and leapt straight down, not bothering going through the truck. Assault rifle readied, she glided to one side, avoiding the brightly lit portion of the field and quickly disappearing into the darkness.

Trip exited soon after, with T'Pol climbing down behind him. Both with weapons in hand, taking a moment to examine the open area before them.

"Alright, we're just making sure Romeo can back the truck off the road here." Trip said. "So we need some good, solid ground. Get a flashlight from the truck and we'll just walk back…"

Light sprang out from T'Pol's little ray gun thing. Shining a beam out ahead of her even brighter than the truck's headlight. So…she didn't need a flashlight, then.

"Okay." He said. "So let _me _get a flashlight."

He turned back and reentered the truck as T'Pol started forward into the field, shining her light ahead of her, testing the ground as she walked.

Trip joined her soon enough, walking out from her just far enough that the beams from their lights covered as much ground as possible. After a few minutes they'd examined the field well up until the ground began to rise sharply. Too steep for the truck's flatbed to back up that far anyway.

A minute more and he had T'Pol standing off to the side as he used the flashlight to signal Romeo. Directing him as he backed off the road and parked, nearly a hundred meters off the shoulder. There he killed the engine and jumped down from the truck himself to join them. Making sure to turn off the lone headlight so their presence wasn't broadcast to anyone and everyone passing by on the road.

"We're gonna have to wait 'til light to be sure," Romeo said. "Should be the spot, though."

"I can't verify this is the correct location, of course." T'Pol said. "I didn't come from this direction."

"It's not a problem." Trip said. "We should be pretty close and we'll see where we are in the morning. Of course, if I had a GPS that actually worked, it would be a lot easier."

"GPS?" T'Pol asked.

"Global positioning system." Trip said. "Pretty sure there's still three or four satellites that pass over every once in a while, close enough together that you can use them. I just haven't got around to putting together a receiver and testing it, though."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

Her favorite, maybe even her _only_, form of facial expression, he'd noticed.

"I've got geographical maps that are kind of accurate." He explained. "A lot's changed since they were made but I could probably figure out where you crashed. And where _we _are. Doesn't matter, though. Clover's pretty good at her job. She'll find it tomorrow."

Trip frowned then, turning his head to glance over the darkness where the forest lurked around them.

"Damn, where'd she run off to, anyway?" He muttered.

"She's scouting." Romeo said. "And you worry too much."

"Well, that's my job, I guess." He frowned. "Okay, so let's set up camp."

Romeo moved to climb up on the flatbed and Trip walked over to the truck itself.

"Is it wise to camp in the open?" T'Pol said, turning to follow him. "You seemed concerned up to now that travelers on the road might notice us."

"Well, we're not pitching tents out here." He explained, pulling gear from the rear bed. "We'll have to sleep in the truck. I'm just going to set up the security rig so nothing sneaks up on us. Then I'll tamp down the generator so it isn't so loud. We don't want to run the truck battery down. You know how to run a bio/chem monitor? Or a Geiger counter?"

"I don't know what either of those things are. So I assume not."

"Okay. Well, help me carry this stuff."

He pulled a machine, easily two feet square in size, from the truck's rear cargo bed. With a grunt, he lifted it and handed it over.

"Watch it, now. Kinda heavy."

She accepted it, one-armed. Her phaser in the other hand, still shining brightly.

"See if you can…" He started.

Then realized she was holding the sensor control with only one arm. Not noticeably straining to do so.

It weighed well over fifty pounds, easily.

"Right." He said. "So…just put it up on the flatbed there. We'll run the sensors out next and let it zero in."

She walked over and slid the device up onto the flatbed, shifting it around a little until she was satisfied with its placement. With one hand. While he watched, devoting only a little attention to pulling the sensor rods out of a bag.

When she rejoined him, he handed the rods over to her.

"Just walk out around the edge of the field and stick them in the ground." He said. "Doesn't matter where, long as you've got the perimeter sort of covered."

As she walked off toward the edge of the field, Romeo came up, jumping down from the flatbed beside him.

"Kinda strong, ain't she?" He observed, watching her move out in the dark.

"Yeah." Trip frowned. "Didn't notice that until now."

"Well, she is a mutie. That's one of the things they get sometimes, ain't it?"

"Never seen the green blood thing, though." Trip mused. "That's new. Or the ears. Or the _eyebrows_. Did you notice that?"

"Maybe they're changing or something." Romeo said.

"No." Trip said, glancing over at him. "She's something new."

Romeo shrugged back at him. "Next generation. So who knows, right?"

Trip considered that, squinting in the dark to follow T'Pol as she jammed sensor rods along the perimeter.

"That's not a good thing, Romeo." He said. "Muties never showed anything but beneficial mutations when they first popped up. And there were only about a dozen or so. We charted them all. Even Clover's skin is an actual pigmentation of some kind, not albinism. Something designed to protect her from gamma radiation. That's why she can scavenge around the Columby Ruins without getting sick."

Romeo looked over at him, curiously.

"We always figured it was something engineered." Trip explained. "Had to be. Some kind of military experiment, maybe. A mutagenic, accidentally released into the population before it was ready. Or something that was _supposed _to be used on our troops, in a controlled environment. But if we're looking at an actual second generation, with a whole new set of beneficial mutations…that's a very bad thing."

Romeo grinned at him. "You know I don't understand a damned thing you're saying to me right now, right?"

Trip grinned. "Yeah, alright. Point is, if muties can have kids and those kids have _new _mutations, all of them _good _mutations…then we're in trouble. In a hundred more years, muties will be running things around here."

Romeo considered that.

"Well…can't say I care." He decided. "I'll be dead. And Clover's alright."

"They ain't all like Clover, Romeo."

"Yeah, well, neither are we." He said.

* * *

><p>When T'Pol returned he and Romeo were just finishing running the biochem monitor and Geiger counter over the area, ensuring nothing conspired to poison them in their sleep. With the flip of a switch Trip had the sensor rig zeroing in, ready to warn them of anything nasty that might wander up in the night.

"Alright." He nodded. "That should do it."

"Good!" Romeo announced, tossing the Geiger counter into the front seat of the truck. "Let's eat!"

Trip frowned. "Not 'till Clover gets back. She's got a meal coming, too…"

"She's here!" Clover said, from atop the truck. Scanning the darkness with a pair of binoculars.

Trip looked up to find her, grinning. "Should have known you wouldn't let us eat without you."

"Nope." She said, looking down to grin back. "She can have MRE's?"

"Just one." Trip said, suddenly stern.

Clover pouted. "One ain't enough."

"They'll make you fat, Clover." He said. "A lot of calories in those things."

"She likes calories. They taste real good."

"Well, you tell me we're clear out there and you can have a can of peaches with it."

"Clear!" She announced. "We checked all the way out, a whole hundred miles!"

"How far is…?" Trip started to ask. "Hell, never mind. Good enough."

Clover stepped off the roof of the truck, landing squarely on the flatbed to start collecting the food supplies.

"What's an MRE?" T'Pol asked, coming around beside him.

"Meal, ready to eat." Trip said. "Old army field kits. Kind of a mini-cryo unit, with a built in cooker. They're actually a lot better than they sound…"

Trip stopped suddenly. "Hey, when's the last time you ate?"

T'Pol considered for a moment. "Three days ago. Immediately after arriving in Scraptown."

She glanced up on the flatbed, where Clover had disappeared. Then started up to go after her.

"God." He said, watching her climb. "I _thought _I hadn't seen you eat anything. Aren't you starving to death?"

She paused, up on the flatbed looking down at him.

"I am hungry. But hunger is manageable. I would not have allowed myself to starve to the point that it impacted my health."

"Yeah, but…three days _does _impact your health, doesn't it?"

T'Pol thought about that, determining the most appropriate response.

"Perhaps it is a beneficial mutation." She said. And disappeared behind the fuel drums, off to help Clover.

* * *

><p>T'pol sniffed the thick brown bar she'd been given. It didn't look particularly appetizing…<p>

But it smelled…wonderful.

"What is this?" She asked, staring at it.

"Chocolate." Trip said.

Clover had already consumed hers, and was still sucking the ends of her fingers to get the last bit of it off. But T'Pol could only stare at hers.

The scent was…certainly it was more enjoyable than the taste promised to be. Indeed, she was tempted simply to continue enjoying that instead.

"Never had it?" Trip asked, gathering the last of the discharged MRE packages from around the truck. Three of them having been consumed by her.

"No." T'Pol muttered, staring at the chocolate bar. "I have not."

"Here." Romeo said, tossing another one back onto the seat beside her, still sealed in its wrapper. "Can't stand it. Makes my teeth hurt."

"Try it." Trip nodded, cleaning up the last of the mess. "You'll love it."

T'Pol hesitated…but took a bite. A small one. Chewing it carefully…

Her eyes fluttered. Because it tasted even more wonderful than it smelled. It made her chest warm. And the hairs on her arm stand on end.

She let the bite of chocolate sit in her mouth, dissolving, as she stared lazily over at Trip.

He chuckled. "Like it?"

She didn't want to open her mouth. So she just nodded.

"Knock yourself out, darlin'." He grinned. "You earned it today."

"She earned it, too." Clover muttered, frowning back at him.

"Yes, you did." Trip said, nodding soundly. "You're a regular gun bunny. Wouldn't want anyone else on the sixty but you, Clover. That's a fact."

Clover snorted, leaning back in her seat to relax. And kicked Romeo's feet off the dashboard ahead of her with her own, as he'd settled in there to get comfortable.

Trip sat across the rear seat from her, leaning back against the door with his notebook. Pencil in hand, the last remaining overhead light directed down on him, he gave his attention to that.

T'Pol ate the first chocolate bar at a slow pace, enjoying it. Although she knew she shouldn't be doing that. It wasn't logical to savor food in that manner. That constituted indulgence, which could easily lead to unhealthy eating habits.

But it was difficult to resist. And the taste lent itself very well to indulgence. Enough that she continued enjoying the chocolate for nearly half an hour.

She was halfway through the second bar before she realized something was wrong…

"Trip." She said.

"Hm?"

She gazed over at him, finding him still scribbling in his notebook. Clover and Romeo were already asleep up front.

"I…am not sure…" She said.

It was difficult speaking clearly, she noticed. Not impossible, but it did require a modicum of effort.

Trip raised his head to look at her. Because she sounded…different.

"What? What's wrong?" He asked.

"I think…I may be intoximul...intoximated."

Trip squinted at her.

"You're _what _now?"

She turned her languid gaze to the half eaten chocolate bar in her hand.

"Oh." She said.

"Oh, what?"

"That."

"That, _what_?"

T'Pol made a strange noise then. Like a snort. Or…a strangled kind of chuckle.

Trip frowned. "You alright? What's the matter with you?"

"Chocolate." She slurred. As if that explained everything.

"Don't tell me you're allergic to chocolate."

"No."

Trip slid the pencil into the spiral bind of the notebook and dropped it on the seat, leaned over with a 'come here' gesture.

"Let me see your eyes."

She jerked her head around at him in surprise…unsteadily, almost losing her balance. Despite having done nothing more than turn her head too quickly. When he touched her chin, to turn her face a little more toward the light, her eyes flew open wide and her hand came up to grab his wrist.

_Hard_.

"Relax. _Relax_." He soothed. "I'm not gonna bite you."

The hand eased up a bit. But it stayed there, in case it needed to crush his wrist again. Because she had a bit of a wild look in her eye all of a sudden.

"Can you breath?" He asked, studying her pupils. "Having trouble breathing?"

"No." She said. "I smell you."

_Huh?_

"No, _breathing_. Can you _breathe_?"

"You're touching my face." She said, frowning at him. Where he stared into her eyes. Only a foot away.

"Well…just keep your head still." He muttered. "Your pupils are dilated. Are you itching anywhere?"

Her brow furrowed and she looked confused.

"I don't want to mate." She slurred. "I'm intoximated."

"Wait…you're _drunk_?"

"Yes."

"From _chocolate_?"

"Yes."

"You're kidding me."

"Your eyes are blue." She wondered. "Like…blue glass."

Trip snorted with laughter.

"God, you _are _drunk."

"Yes. And your hand is very…cool. Like blue eyes."

"Who the hell gets drunk off chocolate?"

"I think Vulcans do." She said, vaguely, staring into his eyes. "I think."

Her brow furrowed suddenly and her eyes came sharply into focus again. And she frowned at him.

"You are touching my face again."

"I never stopped." He smirked. "Is that a problem?"

She stared at him, uncertain. "I don't know."

He let go, though. And cocked his head, quirking his mouth to the side to consider her as he leaned back again.

"You sure? You're just drunk?" He asked. "Not some allergic reaction or something?"

She sighed, running one hand harshly down her face, as if brushing cobwebs away.

"I'm fine." She said. "I should not have enjoyed chocomat…_chocolate_."

He nodded, still watching her closely. Then gave her another 'come here' gesture, looking at her wrist.

"Let me check your pulse."

"No." She said, immediately.

"I just want to check…"

"You are touching me too much."

He held his hands up, leaning back a little more.

"I'm not touching you _at all_." He insisted. "I just want to…"

"No."

He frowned now. "I want to make sure you're not…"

"You don't know anything about Vulcan physilology."

"What's a Vulcan?"

"Me. Or…my peop-"

She stopped, her eyes narrowing suddenly.

"It's not revelant."

Trip studied her for a moment.

"Your _people_." He said. "So there are _more _like you out there."

She stared.

"You're not working for Humans at all, are you?" He asked. "You're _running _things. Second generation, right?"

She said nothing.

"And you've got a _space program _going." He said, amazed. "I can't believe it. How did…? It's only been, what, seventy…eighty years, maybe?"

T'Pol looked away. Unsteadily.

"We have…had a space program for much longer than that." She said.

"No. You haven't." He insisted. "Because you haven't _been around _for longer than that."

She was thinking it over, he saw. Busily. And drunkenly. So he waited.

Impatient. Wanting to demand answers. But he waited. Until she sighed suddenly. And slumped a bit.

"I want to go home, Trip." She said, sadly.

"Where's home?" He asked, quietly.

But she didn't answer right away.

"I will explain tomorrow." She said.

So he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

_Dammit_.

"T'Pol…" He said, ready to start pushing…

"I am very drunk." She said. "My emotional and behaveral controls are very weak. Please do not take advantage of that."

So.

Damn.

What the hell was he supposed to do here now?

He grasped the bridge of his nose, squeezing a bit. And sighed with frustration.

"Look…fine." He said, tightly. "Just…get some sleep."

She nodded and turned away, slumping against the seat.

So he watched her for a while. And she was out pretty quick. Maybe she wouldn't even remember any of it tomorrow. Including her promise to explain everything then.

He _could _have pushed. He _should _have. She probably would have spilled. Told him everything, once he got her going.

But he just watched her sleep. Because he was a hopeless sucker. And he knew it.

And as much as he'd tried to be hard…it looked like she'd maybe figured that out about him too.


	10. Chapter 10

Clover was up before anyone else. She had a job to do and that meant getting it done before it got too much daylight, if she could. 'Cause the rest of them would want to do _their_ jobs when it got daylight.

She was quiet but she woke Romeo up anyway. He was a hauler, so that meant he didn't sleep much on the road. And he didn't sleep too deep neither, 'cause there was always trouble on the road.

She wanted to spend a minute just being awake first, rubbing her eyes and scratching her scalp a bit. And that was fine. But Romeo went out to turn the generator off and check all the truck stuff, so she had to make Clover crawl up on the turret before she could wake up as slow as she'd wanted to. 'Cause she was on the sixty. That was part of her job.

"So, good mornin'." Romeo said, down on the flatbed. He was checking stuff still.

Clover yawned behind the gun. Real hard. 'Cause it was still dark out and she wasn't all the way awake yet.

"Trip said gear you up." He said. "Anything down here you need?"

She rubbed one eye, looking over the gear down there with the other.

"She needs some food. For lunch." She said. "And sommin' for breakfas'. Is there breakfas' MRE's?"

"Don't think so. I think it's all lunch stuff. Got some eggs though. Powder kind."

"She don't like that."

Romeo laughed. "You're getting spoiled, Clover."

So Clover frowned. "She'll eat it. Just wanna give her sommin' tastes better."

"That's what I'm talking about."

"We don't care, then." She said. A little snappish.

"Grumpy this mornin'?"

"No." She grumped.

"Probably wish _you _got to sleep in the back, huh?"

Clover woke up then, and focused sharply on Romeo. He just glanced back at her, smirking a little. So she had to cover for Clover. In case Romeo was gonna hurt her feelings.

"She's not jealous."

He laughed. "Oh, hell yes, she is."

She didn't say anything back to Romeo, though. 'Cause he was just playing. And Clover didn't want to play with him about that.

So she just watched the perimeter. 'Cause maybe something might come out of the dark and she could shoot it.

"Clover, I don't really want to give you a hard time." Romeo said, a little more seriously.

She sighed.

"She's got to go scout, Romeo."

So Romeo should stop talking at her and get _done_. So she could go away for a while. Go and be Clover out there, where she belonged.

Romeo just nodded. "Yeah, I know. Just wanted to make sure everything's all right with you."

"She's fine." Clover insisted. "We take care of her."

"Wouldn't mind Trip taking care of her a little, though, huh?"

Clover was starting to get mad.

"He's nice to her plenty. She don't care."

Romeo nodded. And came over to stand down there by the cab. So maybe he was done with his stuff already.

"Okay, Clover." He said. "Just wanted to be sure you were alright."

She should probably get Clover down there, fetching her gear. So she could go be Clover. Instead of talking to Romeo all morning. 'Cause that made Clover nervous.

Her, too, sorta.

But…

"It's…hard." She said. "Taking care of her, sometimes."

He was still listening. And he wasn't playing around anymore. So that was okay. Still made her all fidgety, though.

"Can't do everything she needs." She said. "You know?"

Romeo nodded. "Yeah, I do. Lot of folks have that problem."

"Yeah." She said, nodding. She supposed lots of folks did. "Hard to find somebody to help."

He snorted. "Sure as hell is. Anyone worth a damn, anyway. Especially for you, I guess."

"Yeah." She said, sadly.

"She's lucky to have you, you know." Romeo said. "Even if you never find anyone else to help, she's got you. So I guess that's something."

That surprised them both, though. Her _and _Clover. Because no one ever understood that.

"What?" Romeo asked, seeing the look on her face.

"Nothin'." She said. "Just…nobody gets that."

He grinned. "Well, I've been taking care of Romeo for a while now. So, yeah, I get it."

Clover thought that was kinda sad and nice. And she figured Romeo was alright, too, then. So she let Clover grin at him a little.

"He's a real pain in the ass sometimes." Romeo said.

That made _her _smile. Because Clover was a pain in the ass sometimes, too.

"Yeah." She chuckled.

So they were quiet for a while. And that was nice. Even though she oughta get Clover down and go scout. It could wait a minute, though.

"So what do you think about the ray gun girl down there?" Romeo asked.

So…it wasn't nice anymore. Because neither one of them liked that girl.

"She's trouble." Clover frowned.

Romeo nodded. "Yup. Got that feeling."

"She ain't human. Ain't mutie, neither."

"Kinda what Trip was saying last night, I think. So what do you think she is?"

She shook her head. "Don't know. Just trouble."

"Yeah." He said. "And she's getting her hooks in with Trip, too."

That made Clover mad. And _she _didn't like it much neither.

"She coulda…" She started, frowning.

But she really didn't want to tell Romeo about that.

…except, what the hell. Why not?

"She coulda had, too." Clover said. "Maybe."

Romeo looked up at her again, curious.

"You think?"

Clover nodded. "She thinks so. 'Cause she slept at his place alla time. And he's always nice to her. So…he likes her well enough. I prolly shoulda let her try, maybe."

"Why didn't you?" He asked. "You're alright. Better than any of the girls in Scraptown, anyway."

She shook her head. "No. Trip…he ain't a scavenger. He's town folk. And she'd have to leave alla time. And then it wouldn't work right, and that'd get her hurt real bad."

Romeo was looking at her funny, then. And his eyes went too deep. That made her nervous. So she wanted to go scout again.

"Had that happen already?" He asked.

She frowned. Why was she talking to him about all this?

"Just…one time. A little." She said.

She really oughta make Clover shut up, but...

"This…there was this guy in Rust." She said. "He let her stay there when she was trading. But…she had to…you know, like…like you _have _to do."

Romeo nodded. So he got it.

"Kinda got nice for a while." She said. "Didn't mind so much after a while. She liked it sometimes. When he wasn't mean about it."

"So what happened?"

She shrugged. "Came home one time…wasn't _her _home maybe, but…this other girl there. And they were doing that, we're pretty sure. So we left, didn't go back no more."

"Should have kicked her ass." Romeo said. "Lotta men screw around, Clover. You gotta make it so those other girls know you ain't gonna put up with it."

She shook her head. "No. She woulda killed 'em both. That's too much trouble."

And that got her thinking. About what she'd been thinking before.

"Romeo…" She said.

But she wasn't sure how to say it. Not in a way that wouldn't make him all jittery.

"What?" He asked.

"You think, maybe…? Well…we was thinking. We're already here. Salvage site's out there somewhere, which maybe we oughta go find it now. But…she's trouble. We oughta take care of that."

Romeo started looking at her like that again. Real deep. Maybe _too _deep. But at least he wasn't getting upset about it.

"Like how, exactly?"

"You know." She said.

He shook his head. "Don't think Trip would agree with that, Clover. Not a bit."

"So he don't have to know." She said. "Best for him, anyway. 'Cause she's trouble."

"This because you're jealous, Clover? You think that's gonna help you with Trip?"

"Ain't about that…"

"Yes, it is."

She looked back at him. Frowning.

"Well, okay." She said. "Part of it. But mostly not."

Romeo was staring up at her. Pretty hard, too.

And suddenly her chest hurt. And her eyes hurt, too.

"She already knows she can't have him." She said, her voice trembling just a little. "Ain't about that."

"Right. Because it don't work like that, Clover."

She sighed, frustrated. "We _know _that."

The truck shifted slightly under her. And the conversation had gotten pretty tense. Enough that she almost didn't pay it any attention…but Romeo noticed it. So she had to. So they knew what was coming when the door opened up down there.

When he jumped down from the truck and came around, she already knew how much he'd heard. He'd been awake for most of it. She just hadn't been paying attention.

And he was mad. Not the shouting kind of mad, neither. The kind of mad where he made decisions and you couldn't talk him out of 'em. So that was pretty bad.

He leaned up on the flatbed, on his forearms, with his fingers laced together like that. So, yeah, it was pretty bad.

"Good morning." He said.

They didn't say anything back. Because that'd just piss him off more.

"Something we need to talk about?" He asked.

So she started feeling guilty. Wasn't Romeo's fault, just hers. But she didn't want to say anything yet and get him to being mad only at _her_…

"No." Romeo said. Real quiet like.

"That's good." Trip nodded. "Because if we're talking about killing people, I think I'd like to be in on that discussion."

Clover figured maybe she should say something…

"We was just…"

"Do you two even know what we're doing out here?" He asked.

They didn't say anything. Because that was one of those questions you weren't really supposed to answer.

"She has a damned particle beam weapon in her pocket." Trip says. "_In her pocket_. Now, you _think _about that. What does that say about where she's from? You think maybe it might be a little _better _there than it is here?"

He shoved off the flatbed then. To glare at them both.

"Now, she's stuck here. With us." He said. "So we're salvaging for her, out here, so she can have something to trade. Maybe buy herself something to eat. Maybe even a clean pair of _pants_. And then what? You think she's going to stick around? _Here? _Or do you think she's going to go back where she came from as quick as she knows how?"

They didn't say anything.

"_Well?" _He snapped.

"She's gonna go home." Romeo said. "Quick as she knows how."

"That's right." Trip said. "Back home. Where they have a space program going. And they're trying to get up to the Phoenix. Or, even better, where they've already got to it and need help figuring it out."

He waited, letting that sink in a bit.

"You going with her, Trip?" Clover asked.

"If I have to make her drag me there by her ankle, you're damned right I am."

"Well…what about us?"

"I think that's kind of the whole point of this discussion." He said. "What about you? I was kind of hoping I could get you two out of here, too. Hell, that's half the reason I'm doing this. For you two. Now I'm wondering if that's such a great idea anymore."

"We aren't like you, Trip." Romeo said. "We don't know any kind of math or anything. What would they want with us?"

Trip huffed, throwing his arms out. Frustrated.

"What the hell's the matter with you two?" He said. "Where she comes from…I mean, I've only seen _videos _of what it was like before the war, but…if it's _anything _like that. Dammit, if it's just plain better than _this_, I'd clean toilets for a living! And I'd be damned happy to do it!"

"What's a toilet?" Clover asked.

"It's something you don't want to clean for a living, Clover!"

The truck shifted again.

And this time everyone noticed. Right away.

Trip put his hands on his hips and slumped, head bowed. Cursing under his breath.

He didn't raise his head when the door opened, the truck shifted again and the door was shut quietly back. Nor when she came around on the far side of the flatbed, either. He just kept staring at the ground. Because he was still cursing, if only in his head.

Then he sighed and looked up. And she was over there looking at them all calmly, hands folded neatly at her back.

"Excuse me for interrupting." She said. "But I preferred not to be murdered in my sleep."

Aw, God. So she'd probably heard...

"Nobody's murdering anybody." He said, frowning.

"That is good, then." She said.

"I'm thinking seriously about shooting some people in the kneecap, though." He said. "If that's alright with you."

"I don't think that would be very productive."

"Well, it was just a thought anyway."

Clover had something to say, though. So being Clover, she didn't hold her tongue.

"You're trouble."

"So I gather." T'Pol said.

"Yeah." Trip said. "So who was that talking about killing people a minute ago?"

"Because she's trouble." Clover insisted.

"Stranger danger." Romeo said. "Everybody's trouble. Can't kill _everybody, _Clover."

"Don't have to." Clover said, tightly. "Just her."

"No one is killing anyone!" Trip snapped. "Am I absolutely clear on that point?"

No one answered, though. Because he was really mad now.

"_Clover!" _He yelled.

"Don't yell at her." Clover said, quietly. Glaring at him now.

"You get your gear together and get your ass…!"

"_Don't YELL AT HER!" _She screamed at him, slapping the roof of the truck.

It was quiet for a moment. And Clover was shaking with fury.

In the turret, behind the sixty.

"Clover." He said, tightly. "You get your damned gear together."

"Wait." T'Pol said. "Excuse me."

Trip sighed, still glaring at Clover. Who was still trembling with anger, glaring hatefully down at him from the turret.

"Probably not a good time to chime in, T'Pol." He said.

"I think it is." She said.

She turned her attention to Clover.

"If you will calm yourself, I will speak to you." She said. "To all of you. There are things that you must know, before any further action is taken."

"No." Clover said, her voice trembling. "She don't care. She's leaving. Make all the trouble you want."

"That is your decision, of course." T'Pol said.

Clover thought about it for only a second…then slammed a fist onto the roof of the truck again, turning her anger on T'Pol now.

"Why are you here?" She demanded. "What did you come here for?"

"It was not my choice. And I am trying to leave."

"Then go! Go and leave us alone!"

"I need your help."

"Why? With what? _Just go!"_

"It is too far to travel by conventional means. I require subspace communications, to request recovery. Or, alternatively, a warp capable vessel. Such as the Phoenix."

Everyone stared. Realizing there was something to be realized there. But not quite realizing it just yet.

Trip caught up first, though.

"Wait…what?_" _He said. "What did you just say?"


	11. Chapter 11

"So." Trip said. "Not France then."

"I am uncertain where France is located, actually."

Trip nodded, leaning back against the cab. Where Clover dangled her legs off the side next to him. And Romeo sat nearby on the generator, listening with interest. If not a great degree of comprehension.

"How far again?" Trip asked.

"Slightly less than sixteen light years."

"Triple star system, you said?"

"Yes, technically…"

"That's 40 Eridani. Gotta be." He said. "Yellow dwarf, with a white and a red dwarf orbiting each other, right?"

T'Pol arched an eyebrow in appreciation.

"You are familiar with it?"

"Well, yeah." Trip said, a little amazed. "You can see the thing from here. You don't even need a telescope. You're practically right down the street from us."

"If I understand the reference, then that is correct."

"So, wait. Hold on a minute." Trip said, holding up one hand. Thinking.

Atop the truck, sitting and watching the exchange going on right next to her, Clover turned to Romeo below.

"What they talkin' about?" She asked.

Romeo just shrugged. "Space stuff."

"How long have you been out there?" Trip asked. "In space, I mean."

T'Pol hesitated. "One hundred and ninety-four years."

"How long have you known about us?"

"Since Vulcan interstellar probes detected warp activity in the system, approximately one hundred years ago."

"Cochrane's unmanned warp trials, right?"

"I must assume."

"So why didn't you visit?" Trip asked. "Say hello. Drop a bomb. _Something_."

"Manned warp flight was never conducted." She said.

"So what? What difference does that make?"

She hesitated again. "We have very strict rules concerning contact with pre-warp civilizations. Observations were limited to passive sensor recordings and short orbital reconnaissance."

"So…" Trip said. "Wait. Because Cochrane couldn't get the thing to work, you just never bothered to…?"

He stopped then…

"Hold on." He said, staring. "_Civilizations_, you said."

"Yes." T'Pol replied.

Trip was thinking, his eyes searching back and forth as he examined whatever had occurred to him. So she waited, curious to see what.

"Oh." He muttered. "Right. You're only sixteen light years away…"

"I don't understand."

"There are others out there, aren't there? There'd have to be, if _you're _that close."

"Other sentient species? Yes, of course."

"How many?"

"I cannot say. We have explored little further than fifty light years from Vulcan. One hundred light years with unmanned probes and interstellar…"

"How many other _people _did you find so far, though?"

"Twenty seven." She said.

Trip gawked.

"However, less than a dozen have achieved warp travel. And so we have made formal diplomatic contact only with those. Some of them being encountered in space, in the process of conducting their own explorations."

Trip was still staring, his jaw dropped.

"What that means?" Clover asked, down at Romeo again.

"There's others up there." He said. "Lots of 'em, all over."

"We thought…" Trip said. "We thought we'd have to go clear across the galaxy. If there was even anyone out there at all."

"Indeed, we were surprised as well." T'Pol noted. "However, there are ancient myths concerning contact and conflict with a people who came from space. We believe that may have been the Orions, though they deny any knowledge of it."

"Orions?"

"Another space-faring species."

"Oh. So how come _we _never met anyone?" Trip asked. "I mean, we have myths ourselves but…nothing like you."

"It is very likely you have been visited in the past." She said. "In fact, a relative of mine is said to have…"

"Okay, wait a minute." Trip said, a little frustrated. "Why has no one ever made actual _contact?_ Let us know you were all up there."

"There was no reason to. You have yet to achieve warp travel."

"You said that before." Trip said. "What difference does _that _make?"

"Trip, try to understand." T'Pol said. "Lacking even the technological advancement necessary to achieve warp flight, all you have to offer a space-faring sentient species would be slave labor. And so, it is fortunate no contact was made prior to now."

"Why didn't _you _contact us then?"

"It remained to be seen whether you would destroy yourselves or recover successfully."

Trip stared.

And then got angry.

"You mean you've been sitting up there this whole time?" He said. "Just watching us? Even during the war?"

"Of course." She said. "We hoped you would recover more quickly than you seem to be. However, having interacted with you directly I may have some insights into why…"

T'Pol winced suddenly. Because he'd begun to issue a string of profanities that her translator failed to keep up it with. Most of it coming across as loudly delivered gibberish.

It managed to catch up after a moment, though.

"…since the goddamn war! People have been dying down here!"

"Yes, precisely." She coldly.

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" He demanded.

"Immediately prior to coming under attack and crashing on your planet, we watched several large battles taking place only two hundred miles from here. Your Republic of Texas, I presume, and another political entity farther to the west. Both allied together against a larger force intruding from the south. That war is likely still ongoing."

"And you could have stopped it!"

"How would you suggest we do that? Destroy both armies? We could have done so easily enough. But who then would protect the civilian populations that depended on them? Perhaps it would be best if Vulcan annexed Earth, and enforced peace directly. Would you agree with that?"

"It'd be better than what we've got now." Trip insisted.

"How many other Humans would agree, do you think?" T'Pol challenged.

Then turned her attention to the two others there.

"If my people came from the stars, demanding peace, enforcing it and dominating this planet, what would your reaction be?" She asked. "If, for example, our military units occupied Scraptown and disarmed the population there?"

"I'd shoot yah before you disarmed _me_." Romeo said, frowning.

"And you?" T'Pol asked Clover.

"We'd leave." She glared. "We don't like you."

She turned back to Trip.

"Do you truly think our mere appearance, without such overwhelming intervention, would be enough to encourage peace?" T'Pol asked.

Trip glared. "Maybe, maybe not. But we'd at least know there was something better out there."

"But there is not." She said. "Even now Vulcan teeters on the brink of war with Andoria and has fallen into conflict with them several times, over relatively minor issues. And beyond them the Klingon people wait for our borders to approach theirs, promising aggression on that front. Why then should Vulcan invite your fractured people to bring their conflicts onto the stage? We would be foolish to do so."

"Indeed, if you achieve warp flight at any time, we will not stop you from venturing into space. That is your right, whatever your political status. And we would greet you there, in the hopes of establishing peaceful relations early on. But until you unify and seek peace, it would not serve our interests in any way to open the door for you ourselves…"

Romeo laughed suddenly. Causing both she and Trip to look over at him, surprised.

"Stranger danger." He grinned, gesturing at T'Pol. "They got that up there, too."

She opened her mouth to deny the accusation…

…but found, to her surprise, that she couldn't.

"Huh." Trip said. "Well, I'll be damned."

"That is…not entirely accurate…" She said.

"Yes, it is." Trip pounced. "And what's that you said back in Scraptown? Maybe I should point out that your philosophy precludes our joining your little community up there. Or how there's greater security in mutual cooperation. Any of that ringing a bell?"

T'Pol reconsidered.

"I'd say you're stifling galactic progress, if I could figure out how _that _works exactly…"

"I understand your point." She said, stiffly.

"Do you? Because it's a pretty good point Romeo brought up."

"I do. And the point is debatable."

"Then let's debate it." Trip said, stubbornly. "Maybe we have some issues we have to work out down here. But if you people offered to help, instead of just sitting around up there, watching…"

"I'll remind you that this is largely the same position you have taken yourself, in regards to those outside your own community."

Trip opened his mouth to argue that…and found himself likewise lacking an argument.

"…okay." He said. "So we're both making the same mistake, then."

"So you acknowledge that you are mistaken?"

"Do _you_?"

T'Pol didn't answer for a moment.

"Perhaps." She said, at last.

"Okay." Trip said. "And maybe you're right about us. In fact, that's a big part of why I left the Bunker. I _had _hoped I could get out here and make a difference. Especially if I could get back up to the Phoenix again. To give people something to hope for."

"So why didn't you?"

Trip snorted. "I got shot at a few times. Got _shot_, in fact, once."

T'Pol considered.

"Perhaps we could say the same." She said. "We likewise hoped to make a difference. And have also suffered as a result. So we now exercise greater caution."

"Stranger danger." Trip said, grimly.

"Of a sort." She agreed.

They were silent for a moment. Each considering things in light of that.

"Who attacked you?" Clover asked.

T'Pol blinked. "Do you mean during our own space explorations?"

"No, no." Clover said. "You said you was attacked up there. Before you crashed your ship."

T'Pol nodded. "An automated defense system of some sort. It utilized simple mass accelerators and solid projectiles, so we failed to detect the threat until it began to fire. Our impulse engine system was damaged before we could…"

"Wait." Trip interrupted. "_Orbital _defenses?"

"Indeed. Part of our assignment was to conduct full scans of the Phoenix, to determine why it had never been recovered or flown beyond the system. And so we were to conduct orbital reconnaissance in the process. That is what piqued my interest in this survey mission. I found prior reports about Earth intriguing, and so volunteered…"

"Cochrane was a drunk." Trip said, vaguely. "That's why the Phoenix is still sitting up there. It doesn't work. And orbital defenses up there shouldn't have worked either."

"Are you certain?" She said. "From my own experience, they seemed to work quite well."

"I shut them down ten years ago." He said. "Back when I still thought I could get up there. I didn't want to get shot at myself. That's what killed Cochrane. He couldn't get the thing to work and got stuck up there when the war broke out. Tried to get back down in a capsule…and the ODS got him."

T'Pol looked him, questioning.

"Orbital defense system." He explained.

"If you shut down the system, then how was it still active?"

"Were you approaching orbit or already there?"

"We had been in orbit for several days." T'Pol said. "In fact, now that you mention it…one wonders why it would engage at all, if it were already active. It should have engaged as we approached…"

"It wasn't active when you came in, that's why." Trip said, frowning.

"Someone on the surface reactivated the system?" T'Pol guessed.

"Not someone." Trip said. "The Bunker. They're the only ones who could have. That was _our _mission, before the brass abandoned it fifty years ago. Reactivate the ODS and satellite recon system after the war, to reestablish orbital superiority…"

"Whoa, Trip." Romeo said. "That means they would have had to know there was something there for it to shoot at. Or they wouldn't have bothered turning it back on."

"Right." Trip nodded, grimly.

"_They _shot her down?" Clover asked. "On purpose?"

"Yeah." Trip said. "Which means they know she went down. And probably where. That'd be the whole point."

T'Pol considered. "Why would they fire on our ship?"

Trip covered his face with one hand. And began laughing bitterly beneath it.

"Aw, dammit." He said. Still laughing lightly.

"_What_, Trip?" Romeo asked. "What's so funny?"

"Stranger danger, Romeo." He said. "What the hell else?"

"Trip." Clover said. "If they shot her down on purpose, then they wouldn't just leave it sitting there."

Romeo was on his feet in an instant. "Aw, hell. That's right."

"Yeah." Trip groaned. "Son of a bitch."

"I don't understand." T'Pol said, confused.

"That means they're already there." Romeo said. "They've got hummers. Probably been there since the day after you crashed."

"No." Trip said. "If they'd left town I'd have known it. But if they left _after _we did, they still could have got here first. Hummers, like you said. It's a two hour drive straight through the hills from the Bunker."

T'Pol considered that.

"Then they also know that you are aware of the site." She said. "Considering the large amount of salvage gear you collected when you left town."

"So they're sitting there waiting for us." Trip said. "Waiting for _you_, if they figured out who the new girl in town must be. Which you can bet they did."


	12. Chapter 12

"We cannot leave." T'Pol insisted.

Trip continued climbing into the truck. Romeo and Clover having already taken their places within.

"Yes, we can. And that's exactly what we're gonna do." He said, taking his seat. And jerking his thumb at her to indicate she should go around and do the same.

Romeo started the truck, bringing the engine roaring to life. Rumbling in anticipation of hauling something again.

"It is possible that the subspace communications array can be repaired…" She said.

"T'Pol, it doesn't matter." He argued. "You can't get to it to repair it."

T'Pol suppressed frustration. "There is no other option but to make the attempt."

"Yeah, there is." He said. "Getting the hell out of here before they figure out we're here."

"Trip…"

"T'Pol, they shot you down. They know where you crashed and they know it was no accident that it was so close to the Bunker. You crashed there on purpose."

"Because we detected radio telemetry between the Phoenix…"

"Right. Doesn't matter." He argued. "They may not know _why _you tried to land here, only that you did. Which means they were watching for someone to show up. So who'd everyone in town see arrive out of nowhere, asking about the Bunker, T'Pol?"

She pondered furiously…

"T'Pol, don't be stupid. Get in the truck."

"You left the sensor rods in the field…"

"We'll come back for them."

"Perhaps they are waiting on the road…"

"We'll blow through 'em." Trip said. "They don't have an armored vehicle. We do."

T'Pol couldn't come up with anything else to delay their departure…

She tried but…she couldn't come up with anything…

"T'Pol, _please_. Get in the truck."

So there was no other logical choice, then.

She looked up at him, looking him in the eye.

"Trip." She said, sincerely. "I hope you are able to fly the Phoenix someday."

And she turned and left.

Leaving Trip staring at the spot where she'd stood just a moment ago. Where the last chance of talking her into the truck had died.

_What an unbelievable, stubborn-assed woman. _

And it was nutty how he was completely unsurprised that she'd decided to go waltzing right out into the woods with nothing but that little ray gun of hers...

He took a deep breath, sat back staring at the roof of the truck. Then let it out.

"Crap." He said. To whoever might be listening up there.

The truck engine continued to idle, waiting for him to send word it was time to burn some serious methanol and leave this place behind.

And it rumbled impatiently for a while.

"Trip?" Romeo said.

He just stared at the roof. It's not like he had to think about it. He didn't even have a damned choice. That's what sucked so bad.

"We taking you to Rust or just waiting for you there, Trip?"

Trip snorted, grinning a little.

"You really think I'll make it to Rust, Romeo?" He asked, still staring at the roof.

"Well, if you don't I'm trading all your stuff."

Trip sighed again. Just to be sure he got that out there.

"Okay. Let me get a few things first."

"Trip, no!" Clover said. "You come with her. She knows people there. It's okay there."

"You go on with Romeo, Clover." He said, throwing his feet out the door. "He'll take care of you."

"_We _take care of her!" She said.

"He'll help." And he jumped down, out of sight.

Clover stared at the open door. Then sat back again to stare at the dashboard. Listening as Trip climbed onto the flatbed to dig through his gear.

She frowned.

"Up to you, Clover." Romeo said. "I recommend Rust. Don't see any point in you staying to get shot, too."

"Yeah." She said.

So she thought about it.

"It ain't what Trip wants for yah. You know that."

"She loves him, Romeo." She said.

"Yeah, I know."

"He don't love her back, though."

"Yeah, he does. Pretty good, too. Just not like you want, is all."

"We shoulda let her try."

"Maybe. Can't say."

Clover stared at the dashboard. Thinking.

"You ready to go, Clover?"

She sighed.

"No."

Romeo nodded.

"'Bout what I figured."

"She's sorry. Just can't."

"Yeah, me either. Sucks, don't it?

"Yeah. Sucks."

* * *

><p><strong>Salvage Recovery Team One<br>****Field Camp  
><strong>_**(Twenty-five miles east of Atlanta Ruins)**_

Colonel Hadley crouched down in the middle of the wreckage, trying to peer under the larger of the five big pieces scattered around the place. Trying to see what the heck Killian was talking about.

"The glowing thing?" She asked.

"No, next to that." He said, standing over her. "About six inches over?"

"Ah, got it. Those flat things running from it. They're still hot?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She moved her head out of the way and stood up again. A bit of a clumsy proposition, considering every square inch of the field had been shredded by the impact. There wasn't a flat spot _anywhere _to stand on but down in the trenches.

Dusting her cap off on one leg, she slapped it back on her head. Because she was frustrated. And someone was playing music around here, which didn't help her mood a bit. This was a covert op, sort of. They weren't supposed to be drawing attention to themselves, at least.

"Upwards of fifty terawatts." She said, looking across the twisted red hunk of metal and…whatever in front of her. "And all from that battery back there?"

"Don't think it's a battery, ma'am." Killian said. "Maybe some kind of generator? That's a _big _increase in power."

"A generator running off what?"

"Hell, ma'am. I just don't know."

She frowned, rubbing her forehead where the cap bothered her. Hardly ever had to wear it. Never really got used to it.

She should have stayed in the damned bunker. But she'd expected Trip would be out here by now. With the alien.

Or the Texan spy, whichever.

She still wasn't sure which, really. But either way…she really hadn't wanted Trip caught in the crossfire. Maybe she was overestimating herself, but she'd thought if she was here she might be able to talk some sense into him…

…_hit the sack…too long…glad to be back…_

And, dammit, who was playing that out here?

She frowned out over the wreckage, scanning as she talked.

"The issue being that you can't get that door open without cutting the power to it first." She said.

The field was nothing but five huge furrows gouged into the earth, really. Each one sporting a hunk of the ship at one end, extending back into the woods. And even there several tree trunks had been snapped in a horizontal line extend upward and back, toward where all this destruction had first impacted something solid up there.

"No, ma'am." Killian said. "And I'd hate to use another demo charge on that generator."

…_kept me…at the sky…hearse…never die…_

"But the last one nearly took it out." She said. "Is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am. But considering the power it's putting out now, we must have knocked something loose. Some kind of safety measure, if I had to guess. And now that we know how much power it can put out…"

"You don't want to blow us all to hell." She finished. "I get it, Corporal."

…_nine lives, cat's eyes…never wonderin' why…_

"Damn it!" She snapped. "Who's playing that?"

"Ma'am?"

"Some idiot has a PMP out here." She frowned. "Jackson!"

From the far side of the debris, faintly…"Ma'am?"

"Find that music player and confiscate it! And bring whoever that is over here, right now!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Had to be someone on the forward foxhole, down by the creek bed. Everyone else was _here_, cataloguing the debris. And none of _them _would be dumb enough…

…_yes, i'm back. Well, I'm back. Yes, I'm back…_

That was coming from the creek bed alright. From _down _the creek.

Echoing in from the interstate down there?

…_Back in the back of a Cadillac. Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack…_

"Hey, I know that song." Killian said, gazing in that direction.

"Jackson!" She yelled.

Across the field now. "Ma'am?"

"Do we have anyone on the interstate yet?"

"No, ma'am. Geraldo's team's still outbound…"

"Get someone up that creek bed!" She yelled. "Somebody's down there!"

…_Don't look at me now, I'm just makin' my play. Don't try to push your luck, just get outta my way…_

That was getting _louder_…

"That's Coltrane's charge." Killian said, surprised.

"_What?" _She snapped.

"Uh…" Killian stuttered. "The, uh…the haulers, ma'am."

"What _about _them?"

"Well, they've all got these songs they play…"

…_Yes, I'm Back! Well, I'm Back! Yes, I'm Back!…_

"Yeah, so?"

Damned music was _loud_. Someone was coming _up _that creek bed, _blaring _that crap.

"That's Coltrane's, Ma'am."

"_Who?"_

"Romeo Coltrane. That's got to be him down there."

Romeo…? The hauler Trip was supposed to…?

Oh.

…_Well, I'm Back In Black! Yes, I'm BACK IN BLACK!…_

Hadley jerked her attention back to the creek bed. And the monstrosity just coming around the bend down there…blaring that god-awful song…

…saw the machine gun at the foxhole open up…and the flash from the gun mount on that truck spitting right back…

* * *

><p>Clover bared her fangs, pulling the sixty's stock tight into her shoulder, jerking with each round it barreled out over the foxhole.<p>

It was crazy. And she loved it. It was the best gun in the whole world.

The truck shook and bounced, jumping over rocks and bits of rotted trees that'd fallen in there. Splashed what little water there was in the creek bed up high around them. None of that helped her aim any but she managed to get a good stream of rounds going in the right general direction anyway.

And they were right where she'd said they'd be. She just knew that creek would run close enough that Romeo's song would get their attention and bring 'em running.

Didn't think it'd run right _past _them like this, though. That had kinda surprised her.

That was perfect, anyway, though. 'Cause they were scurrying around all over back there, trying to take cover, not knowing _who _she was shooting at. Couldn't hear each other holler, over the sixty and the song. Couldn't hear Trip and that woman back there, neither. Or see them, since she had their attention so good.

She really loved that song, too. That guitar thing was _crazy_.

* * *

><p>Trip peered around the humvee, crouched down behind it. Romeo's charge was blaring across the field, so loud you could feel the bass. Of course, Clover was throwing bullets every which way, coming up the creek bed like that. One had hit the humvee just a second ago.<p>

But, hell. What are you gonna do?

He flicked his hand forward, signaling T'Pol behind him. And she scooted forward past him, ducking low as she moved to cover at the big chunk of her ship sitting there. Taking aim at something he couldn't see with her ray gun. Firing at her target.

And he couldn't hear a thing. Which was perfect.

He moved up beside her, checking the other side for anything over there. It looked like everyone had either gone to ground or run forward to take position to fire on the creek bed. They didn't really have a lot of time, though. Romeo couldn't exactly stop down there or even slow down too much. He'd get bogged down in a fire fight if he did. Or just plain bogged down in the creek itself.

He reached back and tapped T'Pol, sending her forward again. Then turned to follow her, his own rifle ready to shoulder.

Which he hoped wouldn't be needed. She'd been pretty damned stubborn on that point. No unnecessary killing and all…

…and damn. She'd taken out _five _of them already. Dropped them here and there, all around the field nearby.

There was a group of three to the left, within sight. Ducked behind another piece of the ship, popping up to fire on the truck whenever Clover gave them a half second to do so. One of them spotted him…and a red flash cut over him, dropping him like a rock. Without the other two even noticing, being so intent on the hell breaking lose over at the creek.

Well, he wasn't about to be left out of all the fun.

He slid a tear gas round from his belt, chambering it, while she dropped the other two over there in rapid succession. There was only one of the trenches that T'Pol's ship had torn up here that ran laterally to the creek. So that's where everyone smart and fast would be. He only had two rounds, but that should be all it took.

So while T'Pol searched, aimed and dropped men wherever she could find them, taking them from the rear before anyone even noticed in most cases, he slid up to aim over the hunk of twisted metal himself. And with a _*thump* _sent the first round arching over into the trench on the right side of the field.

It only took a second for half a dozen men to start stumbling up out of there, already blind and choking. Even dropping their weapons, in a few cases. Where T'Pol could start dropping them with her ray gun, one after another.

_Well, that's what you get for staying down in the bunker. If you'd been up here in the real world for more than a couple of days, you'd know to bring a damned gas mask._

* * *

><p>Colonel Hadley crouched down in the trench. Every time she tried to peek out to shoot at something with her sidearm, it seemed like a bullet was just waiting to fly past her head.<p>

Gunfire was going on all over the place and she had to wonder how many men were actually shooting at the truck. And how many were just firing wildly in who knows what direction. Hell, most of them had never seen combat.

Hell, _she _never had, for that matter.

Scared the living crap out of her. And the only reason she was even trying to fire at something over there is because she could hear how many guns were going silent on _her _side of this fight.

That wasn't quite as scary as getting shot, but it was close. Because she didn't want to be left alone out here…

Something red flashed nearby.

She didn't get to see what it was, since it was literally gone in a flash. But then it happened again, right over her head. Then again, over there. A beam of red light, like a laser beam…only brighter and more coherent. Right over the trench…

Someone fell _into _the trench, then. Because that light had hit them.

What the hell?

She didn't have time to do what she was going to do. Go over there and peek out, see what that was and where it was coming from. Because something whooshed into the trench about twenty feet away from her. Something that gushed grey smoke as it bounced around back there…

"_Gas, gas, gas!" _Someone yelled.

Oh, right. That was her…

…but she hadn't brought her gas mask, though. Because these people out here weren't supposed to _have _that sort of thing…

* * *

><p>Romeo could barely control the damned truck in this freakin' creek. It's not like it was ever designed to do what he was making it do. But he managed to keep moving, slow enough to give Clover time to get everyone shooting at them. Fast enough that he didn't get stuck.<p>

But now they were passing the field by, coming up on the point where no one would be able to shoot at anyone else. And Trip had said to keep on going, not to get stuck in the fight like that.

Of course, he and Clover had shared a look when he'd turned away.

Because to hell with _that_.

So he hit the brakes and started sliding. And it was pretty funny how now he had a smooth ride all of a sudden. Right up until the truck slid to a stop.

* * *

><p>T'Pol slid down into the trench, dashing over to the far side and up to peer over there. She couldn't see any more men but there was still gunfire from that direction. From her count, perhaps two or three soldiers left.<p>

When Trip caught up, they both climbed over, staying low and scooting forward. Trying to get to them before the truck at the creek was out of sight and no longer able to draw fire successfully.

Clover was still firing from that direction, but seemed now to be focusing on the emplacement near her. Perhaps someone there was still attempting to man the automatic weapon and return fire. So, at least it was somewhat safe for them to move again.

Trip pulled ahead and slid down into the trench, peering off to the left, trying to find whoever was still shooting there. And as she approached, his eyes went wide and he gestured, having found them. She altered course to move around the debris near at hand, as it would seem the men had taken cover there rather than at the trench.

Sliding up to it, she put her back to it, phaser raised and ready. Then peered around carefully, seeing them there. She leaned forward and took aim quickly, firing on all three before the third could do more than look at her in surprise.

And then the only gunfire on the field was from the entrenchment at the creek bed. And from Clover on the truck.

Who, she finally noticed, had failed to continue forward out of the fight. Romeo had come to a stop in the creek there instead. Against clear orders to the contrary.

Which made his truck an easy target. Because something _*thumped* _out of the fortified emplacement down there and hit it. Exploding on contact.


	13. Chapter 13

T'Pol was shocked. Enough that she stood and stared for a moment, despite the inherent danger of the situation.

Someone in the entrenchment by the creek bed had fired some sort of explosive at the truck. And now, within the haze of smoke surrounding the vehicle, as far as she was able to discern…nothing moved there. Nothing.

Clover wasn't firing the weapon on top the truck anymore. And the truck itself wasn't moving…or even active at all. The engine had ceased rumbling and the outrageous music wasn't playing loudly anymore. Both knocked out by the explosion somehow.

"_T'Pol!" _

She jerked her attention to Trip, who was just stumbling over and out of the trench a few yards away.

"Go help them!" He said, gesturing wildly toward the creek.

She was already moving when he'd said 'go'.

"What about you?" She yelled, as she ran.

"Just go! Take it out with your ray gun!"

So she ran, ducking low.

"_Like the raiders on the road!" _He yelled after her. _"Burn that damned thing down!"_

She ran, leaping out over the trench separating her from the foxhole and the sandbag mounted machine gun that threatened Romeo and Clover. Landing, still running, scaling up the far side quickly…

She was Vulcan. Running she could do. Especially in this low gravity environment. Running to kill. Because her comrades…her _katravah_…were in danger. So she was ready to do so now. It was in her blood. Perhaps subdued up to now, controlled by generations upon generations of strict discipline and peaceful existence…but it was still there. And perhaps, due to that very same control, all the more dangerous now.

Her phaser was in her hand, her thumb already dialing the power control _up_. All the way _up_…

Because she was going to burn that thing. In a very logical, thoroughly efficient manner, she would indeed burn that damned thing down.

* * *

><p>Trip continued up, rolling out of the trench and taking to his feet again. T'Pol would kill that gun position. Because she <em>had <em>to. _He _had to get that subspace communication core. That's what all this was for. Get it, get them and then get out. That was the plan.

They _had _to get it. _He _had to get it. Because that damned stubborn-assed woman…or alien woman, whatever…she wasn't going to leave this field until he had it. And Romeo and Clover's stubborn asses wouldn't leave until _he _did. And _he _wouldn't leave…

…ah, hell. His stubborn ass wasn't leaving until _she _did. So it all kinda fell to him to get the damned thing and get them all _out _of there.

He reflected, pretty ironically, as he raced for the largest intact piece of freaky alien space ship on the field…that the whole 'stranger danger' thing really didn't cover it all. It wasn't just strangers that were dangerous. It was the folks you let yourself get attached to as well.

Hell, they got you in _more _trouble. Sure as hell seemed like it right now, anyway.

With a final, out of breath heave up the slope ahead of him, he reached the largest hunk of ship that dominated the field. Slammed into it kinda painfully, in fact, he was running so hard. So, switching the rifle to his offhand, he kept running. Sliding his hand along the hull, looking for that panel she told him about…until his fingers found the crease there. Right down there, pretty much where you'd _expect _to find an airlock.

Slinging the rifle on his shoulder, trying to catch his breath and juggle everything with all that adrenaline pumping through his veins. Enough to make him jittery and butterfingered as all hell…almost dropping the multi-tool…jeez, he just needed a damned screwdriver, for crying out loud!

"Trip!"

_Are you kidding me? Did she really turn around and…?_

Oh.

"Don't move!"

Jenny Hadley. She was right there. Pointing a handgun at him.

"Jenny!" He said, shocked. "What the hell are…?"

"_I said, don't move!" _She yelled again. That .45 caliber thrust out in front of her, gripped with both hands, staring right down it at his head. Not ten feet away.

And that gun was shaking a good bit. Despite her otherwise textbook perfect weaver stance, that gun was still shaking. Like it just wanted to jump out and punch a hole in him, whether she pulled the trigger or not.

"Okay…relax…" He said, carefully. His own voice a little shaky, too.

"You shut up!" She snarled. "_You _did this! You goddamned _traitor_!"

_Wha…'traitor'? Really?_

"Traitor?" He said, incredulously. "_Traitor? _Are you kidding me?"

"These are _my _men you killed here…!"

"We didn't kill _anybody_! And I'm not the one that shot a damned space ship out of the sky, Colonel!"

"_Your _men! Men you used to _live _with, you bastard!"

"Are you out of your damned _mind? You're _the traitors here!"

"This was your _family_!"

"You sat on your asses while the rest of the world starved to death…!"

"Who gives a damn about the rest of the world…?"

"…people we were supposed to defend! How the hell…?"

"…priority lies with the Bunker first! What were we supposed…?"

"…the point in the first place if…!"

"…with all your self-righteous…!"

"…arrogant, self-centered…!"

"_Bullshit!" _They both finished. Simultaneously.

And they stared at each other. She down the barrel of her .45. He with nothing more than a multi-tool in one hand.

They stared _hard. _

Trying not to…

But Trip broke first. And snorted roughly, still trying to stifle it. Grinning despite himself, having to turn away for a second or he'd have lost it…

Jenny Hadley couldn't help but smirk herself. Snorting out a bit of the hysterical laughter _she'd _been fighting. _Still _fought.

Trip laughed out a loud for second. Just for a second.

"Dammit!" He grinned, furiously. Still looking away, trying to get _serious _here.

"This isn't funny!" Jenny insisted. Snorting.

Trip snorted again. Trying to wrangle that grin in and be _serious _for a damned minute here.

"Dammit, Trip!" She laughed bitterly. Tempted to just go ahead and shoot him already. Because she was really _was _pretty pissed off, after all.

And this was just re-god-damned-diculous right here.

"I'm not playing around!" She insisted. Gesturing at him with her gun. Serious now. At least…for long enough to insist as much.

"Okay, okay." He said, taking a deep breath. Holding her off with one hand. Just…taking a breath here.

"I _mean _it, Trip!"

"I know! _Okay_. Just…alright."

They stared at each other again.

So…okay. No hysterical laughter erupting anywhere. Which was good.

Kinda had to deal with the fact that most of their _anger _had dissipated along with the hysterical laughter, though…

So…

"Look…" Trip said.

"No, _you _look!" She said.

"Let me explain!"

"I don't want an explanation! I want this ship!"

"You can have the damned thing! I just want the subspace communic-…"

"Well, you can't have it!"

"I _need _it, Jenny!"

"The hell for?"

"Maybe that's none of your damned business!"

"Well, I'm _making _it my business!"

"It's _important_!"

"I don't _care_!"

Trip took a deep breath. To try that again…

She yelled first, though.

"_Just get away from my ship, Trip!"_

Ship, Trip?

So he started laughing again.

* * *

><p>T'Pol leapt out of the trench and landed squarely, still running. And the foxhole was there ahead. The low sandbag wall and the large machine gun poking through it. One man already climbing out onto the far side. Standing up to go after the truck, where it sat smoking in the creek.<p>

Still quiet. With nothing moving there at all.

She slid to a halt, as if sliding down the dunes back home. Like she did as a child, sliding one foot to the side to bring herself to a graceful halt. Throwing up dust and dried earth now, not good, clean sand.

Bringing her phaser up to fire. Because it was justified now. It was logical and appropriate. To kill in the defense of others. In the defense of one's _katravah_.

And the crimson beam splashed across the man. Across the foxhole. And across the gun and the sandbag wall. Splashed across all of it, from somewhere above.

From above. Because _she _hadn't fired yet.

And certainly not a beam _that _powerful. Not from her type-1 phaser. It had vaporized _everything_. In one quick pass.

She looked up. And it was there above.

Just hovering there, waiting to startle her with its existence. To leave her staring at it, with her mouth open. Like a human would do.

A Vulcan shuttle. Hovering right there.

And that was…unexpected.

* * *

><p>"Jenny." Trip said calmly. "I'm going in there and I'm getting that subspace communication core."<p>

"And I'll shoot you if you do, Trip." She said, firmly.

"You're not going to shoot me, Jenny." He insisted.

"Spare me the 'Jenny', Trip!" She snapped. "That was over a long time before you even left the Bunker."

"Well, this isn't really the time and place for that same old argument, is it?" He snapped.

"No, it's not!" She said. "And we're not having it. And you're going to drop that rifle off your shoulder…and that tool there…and you're going to march…"

"I'm going in there." He said, firmly. Turning and jimmying the screwdriver into the panel, popping it loose.

"Trip, I'm warning you." She seethed.

"You're not going to shoot me." He said, searching the dimly lit red letters within. "I just want the core, Jenny. You can't use it anyway. No one else in the Bunker knows anything about…"

"Trip." She said, coldly. "Don't do it."

He found the right button in there. It was pretty obvious. Second down, biggest one. Big red circle on it.

He looked up at Colonel Jenny Hadley as he pushed it. Because she wasn't going to shoot him. She'd been in the bunker with the rest of the egghead soldier wannabes all this time. She didn't have it in her.

And the door slid open smoothly. So he stuck the multi-tool back into his belt and stepped up to go in there. Staring right at her. Because they both knew she wasn't going to stop him…

So Jenny gritted her teeth. And lowered the pistol, with a harsh and regretful sigh.

And shot him in the leg.

* * *

><p>T'Pol spun around when the shot rang out behind her. Despite everything new and interesting going on over here, that shot meant Trip was in trouble. And she'd left him behind, unprotected.<p>

There. Across the field, near the main body of the survey vessel, where the airlock should be. Trip was there, falling against the side of the ship. And that other human, with the weapon in her hand…

She already had her phaser raised, pulled up now having drawn back when the shuttle overhead had surprised her. But it took only a moment to switch her aim there, to the one who'd killed Trip.

And she fired immediately.

Before aiming as properly as she should have, in her haste to avenge Trip. The human with the blue eyes, who'd become her friend and _katravah _somewhere along the way. And so, for the first time since taking the field to engage in this battle, she missed her target.

The beam splashed across the hull just above the woman.

Which startled her, and provoked the same reaction from her, as her shooting Trip had provoked from T'Pol. She turned, crouched and leveled her sidearm at T'Pol. And fired back.

And since she'd taken the split second longer in doing so required to aim properly, she didn't miss.

* * *

><p>She was dazed, unable to figure out for a second where she was and what she had been doing. But it only took that second to remember. She was supposed to be shooting. It's just that the gun wasn't in her hand anymore and the stock wasn't at her shoulder like it was supposed to be. Something had knocked her down and she was all tangled up in the turret housing.<p>

She couldn't hear nothing, except that whining sound. Because something had hit on the side of the truck really, really hard. And she was numb all over, too. Like when you fell down or something, and you got hurt real bad. Like when your body was trying to figure out how bad it was going to hurt, before it started hurting.

So she figured she should probably get moving and do something, before that happened. It might be really bad and it might hurt so much she couldn't do anything then.

She wiggled around a little and fell all of a sudden. Because there wasn't anything but her tail holding her up until she moved. But she landed right on her butt in the front seat, though. So that was okay, once she got herself up from falling over.

Romeo was there, laid out on the seat. And he wasn't moving. So her hand flew out quick to check his pulse. She almost didn't find it at first, and that scared her pretty bad. Then it was there, kinda faint. So maybe it was just that her fingers were a little numb. He must have got knocked out from whatever hit the truck.

But that kinda made Clover mad.

Actually, that made Clover _real _mad.

The door was cracked open a little bit. So she could see outside through it. And Clover knew right where those three guys were. The ones in the foxhole, that shot the truck and knocked Romeo out.

So she got mad, too. And she let Clover go, because those guys deserved it.

She was out the door in a flash. Flowing, like Clover did when she got going real good. On all fours, bounding out the door. Landing and _flowing _out there. Seeing everything, hearing everything, not thinking. Just being Clover.

She flowed over the water in the creek, up onto the ground and around the tree there, straight to the trench. A white blur that knew where everything it wanted to kill was. Where it was, how to come at it without it seeing, where she was gonna bite and tear it first, so it couldn't do nothin' but gurgle and die before it could hurt her.

Then Clover was surprised. Because something red and bright and hot killed everything. Tore up the ground all over there, real quick. Before she could even get to them.

But Clover was quick, too. So she was already flowing around the other way, coming around behind T'Pol, so the not-human, not-muties in the flying thing up there couldn't shoot her with ray beams. Down into the other trench, out of sight now so they couldn't see her either…

Then someone shot a gun and Clover knew Trip had got hurt. Because she could feel it out there. And T'Pol got mad and threw a ray beam at the woman who shot him. And then she got shot and got knocked back into the smoking crater the flying not-muties had made there.

She was already jumping when T'Pol fell, flying past her in the air as she flew back. Grabbing the ray gun thing, plucking it out of the air as she flew by, still moving too fast for the not-muties in the flying ship to shoot her, in case they were gonna. Landing and rolling behind the tree again, where they couldn't see her again neither.

She glanced at the ray gun. And she was good at figuring things out. How to work things. Like she did when she was scavenging. To know what things did, so she'd know what was good for trade and what wasn't. Whether it worked anymore and whether Trip could fix it if it didn't.

That button made a flashlight…that one made it shoot…beam came from there…this is how you turned it up real powerful…and it already was…

Clover was already gone again, over the trench in one leap. Low along the ground, behind the big piece of broken ship, up on top of it where she could see everything. So by the time she figured it out, Clover had them in a good spot to shoot. So she let Clover shoot, because she was really good at that. Better than her.

And Clover shot the woman right in the head.


	14. Chapter 14

Trip stared at Jenny for a while. Just for a while.

The irony of it all didn't escape him. That was why she'd stayed down in the Bunker, he knew. Why all of them had, once they realized what life was like up here. It was why they traded what goods they could to avoid having to come up here. Why they had set up that whole system in Scraptown to keep from _having _to come up and make a place here.

Probably why they'd shot down T'Pol's ship, he figured. So they could make use of the salvage. Maybe even the tech itself, to try to get a leg up again. Because they'd been running out of trade goods over the last couple of years. And they'd known that the Republic of Texas and the New England Commonwealth were starting to extend their reach. In _this _direction.

But they had never come up out of the Bunker. Never come up and tried to teach people the things they'd forgotten. Never got a printing press running and disseminating books, like they could have. Pretty easily, in fact. Never gone out to the farms and taught the folks there the half dozen tricks they were still decades from figuring out on their own. Never established schools or a representative government or a common system of laws and…

Well, they'd just never come up here and done any of the things they'd all talked about doing. Things they knew they should have. Because deep down every one of them had known _that _would probably happen to them. Not to all of them, sure. But enough of them that it scared the hell out of 'em all.

None of them wanted to come up here and get their head blown off. Like Jenny just had.

And the thing was…_he _had come up. Maybe he'd never done any of those things either once he got out here. But he'd come up out of the Bunker, _intending _to. At first. Which kinda made him wonder what that said about him, exactly.

He'd tried pretty hard to fit in up here. Tried to be a hard-ass, like you needed to be in order to survive up here. But he'd never really been able to pull it off. Not completely. And he hadn't done the things he'd always resented the folks in the Bunker for not doing either. So what the hell had he even come up here for? Why had he spent all these years trying so hard not to get his head blown off, too? He'd come up originally to _help _people. And to get up to the Phoenix somehow, eventually.

And, really, when you came right down to it, he'd come up here so Jenny wouldn't have to. So none of the others would have to either. Not until he'd made a difference out here. Made it _safe _for them to come up.

He hadn't done a damned thing up here but scrape out a living, tuning trucks and cars for other people to go kill each other with. He hadn't made a difference at all. Maybe even helped make it worse, if you wanted to look at it that way.

Which was why Jenny was laying there now. Dead. Because he hadn't done what he should have done.

So even if it did make him want to sit there and ache for her. Maybe sit and cry for Jenny, who'd really only just been trying to do her damned job…that wasn't what he was supposed to be doing right now. There were other people still that needed him.

He had to get the subspace comm, so T'Pol could call for help. So she could get the hell off this god forsaken planet. And so he could get Romeo and Clover the hell out of here before all the soldiers T'Pol had stunned started waking up.

Maybe all of this wasn't what he was supposed to be doing up here. But it was what he had to do _right now_. So he got the hell up and started doing that. It hurt like hell, and his leg was bleeding enough to make him a little woozy…but it was just a graze. And he was supposed to be a hard ass, right? So he sorta tried to pretend that didn't hurt as much as it did. And didn't scare him as bad as it did.

And he limped on into that freaky alien ship, leaving Jenny laying there behind him. Because he owed it to her, too, didn't he?

* * *

><p>T'Pol couldn't breath well for a minute or two. She wasn't entirely certain yet what had just happened. The facts were obvious, of course. The woman across the field had shot her. And the projectile from her weapon had struck her chest with enough force to knock the breath out of her. With enough force, in fact, to knock her <em>back<em>, into the crater.

She was having some trouble accepting such primitive weapons could impact with that measure of force, though. It had been extraordinary. She was fairly certain her feet had actually left the ground.

It really was quite impressive.

And the armor she wore, the tactical vest. It was extremely primitive as well. And despite being designed to absorb precisely that form of attack, she would never have been able to accept it would be able to do that. Not if she'd been aware just how hard the projectiles from those ballistic combustion weapons could actually strike a person.

But the atmosphere was oxygen rich, if only just slightly more dense than was comfortable. So she was able to catch her breath and recover somewhat by the time the first one appeared above her, looking down on her passively. Assessing her for injury.

"Subcommander T'Pol?"

She had to try twice, but she finally managed to speak.

"Yes." She croaked. And she would have been embarrassed at the sound of her voice, if she were to allow herself to experience such a thing.

"Are you injured?"

"Yes." She said, her voice a steadier now. "But not seriously."

The Vulcan officer above her continued to assess her. Before concluding there wasn't any logical reason for her to remain laying on the ground like that.

"May I offer assistance in regaining your footing?"

She nodded, raising one hand for him to grab and pull her up. Perhaps one of only a few instances where it would be appropriate to do so.

With his help, she was on her feet quickly enough. And he politely withdrew his hand before the contact could become uncomfortable. Though it did leave her a little unsteady, that was quite acceptable. He was proper enough to look away as well, finding something else in the area to look critically upon while she recovered herself.

"The others." She said. "What is their status?"

"We have found no other survivors, Subcommander." He reported.

"The humans." She specified. "Those who accompanied me here."

"I see. We remain uncertain which are to be considered hostiles."

"Those that are currently unconscious may be safely considered hostile…" She said, glancing at his collar. "…Major."

The Major gestured behind him, at the four man team standing at a polite distance. And they scattered quickly, to do what was required. Making sure those hostiles on the field _remained _unconscious.

"Where did you come from, Major?" T'Pol asked, reaching into the shoulder of her shirt to undo the Velcro fastener there.

"The _Seleya_, Subcommander." He said, sliding his phaser rifle to one shoulder. "We detected your distress signal and my team was dispatched to…"

"Excuse me." She interrupted. "Distress signal?"

She undid the opposite fastener, reaching under her ragged shirt to pull the vest from underneath and away from her. Her chest still hurt and the added difficulty in breathing freely had become unacceptable.

The Major peered around to the side, over the field. "Considering the current situation, Subcommander, I suspect the signal in question was automated. Perhaps triggered by the efforts of the humans on site to access the wreckage of the survey vessel."

"I see." She said. "That is the logical deduction. Our subspace antenna was lost when we came under attack."

That brought his attention back to her. "Attack? By orbital mass driver weapon systems?"

"Indeed." She said, assessing him in return. "You suffered the same?"

"As it happens, yes. Our subspace antennae was destroyed in the process, as well. The satellites delivered a surprisingly high quantity of projectiles in a short amount of time, before we managed to disable them."

She glanced over at the shuttle as she lay the armored vest across her arm. It was scarred across its entire length. Very little of the outer surface having escaped some measure of damage. And the subspace antennae was indeed sheered off.

So, they'd sent a shuttle, expecting trouble. And their shields had obviously been up, in case they encountered it. And yet the Human orbital defenses had _still _managed to damage the vessel.

Again, quite impressive.

That brought the Kevlar vest itself within her peripheral vision. So as she considered all the implications of what the Major reported to her, the Velcro fasteners suddenly piqued her interest.

Vulcans had developed precisely that same technology, many hundreds of years ago. And still used it today. Indeed, judging from the composition of the material, the design was perfectly identical. Which was extraordinary, and suggested quite a lot concerning the similarities between Humans and Vulcans…

Humans like Trip…

_Trip!_

"Major." She said, jerking her head back up. Expressing perhaps an inappropriate amount of anxiety. "The human at the ship. He has been shot. He also was my comrade here…"

"He has taken refuge in the forward bridge section of the vessel, Subcommander." He said. "I have a man covering the airlock, in case he should emerge again. He appeared to be mobile and not critically injured."

"Nevertheless, you will escort me there so that we may render medical aid. Quickly."

* * *

><p>She watched from the trees for a moment. Until she was sure no one had been able to follow Clover or track where she'd disappeared to. So when she figured it was safe enough, she made Clover calm down a little. Because she had to decide who to go to now. Trip or Romeo.<p>

Trip was shot, but he was in the space ship now. And there were not-muties with ray guns there. _Big _ray guns. A lot bigger than the little one she had. There weren't any over by the truck yet, though…

And, really, she was still kinda mad at Trip. And he had that woman to take care of him now. If she went over there and got to him, to help him…well, _she'd _probably show up and want to make her move out of the way or something. And then they'd get in a fight.

That would just make all kinds of stupid trouble. And Romeo would let her take care of him just fine. No one would want to fight about it neither…

So she let Clover take her over there. Flowing through the woods where no one could see until she reached the truck.

Romeo was waking up already. But he was dizzy and his eyes kept crossing in a funny way. So she jumped up with him and grabbed him, to help him focus.

"Clover?" He said, groggily.

"Yeah. She's here." She said. "Come on, we gotta go now."

"Wha' happen?"

"Truck got shot." She said. "Some of them space people is here. And Trip got shot."

Romeo blinked furiously, shaking his head. "Trip's shot?" He frowned.

"Yeah. We gotta go."

"Okay, let me get on my feet here…"

So she helped him down from the truck. Stopped him from falling over until he could stand up on his own a little bit.

"Where's Trip?" He asked.

"He's in the space ship." She said. "But there's space people there. We gotta go."

"Come on. We've got to help him."

Romeo staggered forward, not really knowing which way the space ship was.

"There's space people there." She said again. Because he must not have heard that part. "They got ray guns. Big ones."

"Good guys or bad guys?" He asked, stopping to turn back, weaving almost off balance.

She frowned. "Don't know. She thinks they're like _her_, though."

"Okay, come on."

And he was staggering off again. Toward the space ship and the space people.

Which made her kinda mad. Because now she had to go with him. So it looked like taking care of Romeo was going to be a pain in the ass sometimes, too.

* * *

><p>Trip had to do everything hopping around on one leg. And ignoring the pain, which made focusing a little hard. But still and all, he was a little surprised at how the subspace comm system was just about exactly what he'd expected it would be.<p>

Well, that is...it was pretty _advanced_. Enough that he had to stop himself from gawking at every little thing that jumped out at him. Stop himself from spending an hour or two marveling at how this or that inherent difficulty in converting data impulses into a subspace carrier wave, one that'd utilized the way subspace acted kinda like a solid in transmitting various wave forms…well, damn. He could just sit and pick this thing apart for the next year or two. And have one hell of a good time doing it.

The entire thing was very conveniently compartmentalized, too. Each function and each set of systems divided and sub-divided into handy, easily maintained and replaced components. He wasn't entirely sure how the whole thing was supposed to work together as a unit. That'd take a whole team probably a year of reverse engineering to figure out. But the core subspace signal converter was easy enough to find.

Once he figured out how the get the panels off and get in there to it. Funny how _that _was the hardest part of all this. He'd have to remember that little trick with the fasteners. That was a pretty amazingly sturdy little gizmo. The kind of simple little invention that made you wonder why no one had ever thought of it before. He could have probably made a billion bucks off a patent like that, way back before the war. Bought his own island or something.

He kind of wished T'Pol was here, so he could show off. Because he had the thing unlocked and slid right out of the wall in less than a minute. He was pretty sure she'd raise an eyebrow at him over that. And he'd get to grin at her.

Of course, she'd exploded Jenny's head a few minutes ago. So maybe that wouldn't be so funny right about now…

But this wasn't the time to think about all that. He had to get this thing out of there. Show it to T'Pol, so she'd finally agree it was time to _leave_. And then he get all of them the hell _out _of there.

He was pretty damned surprised to find an alien with pointy ears pointing a big ray gun at him when he hopped out of the airlock, though.

So he stared at him for a minute, the subspace converter dangling from one hand still.

"Uh…hi." He said, staring.

"Greetings." The alien said. Politely enough. "If you would disarm yourself it will not be necessary to render you unconscious."

_Disarm…render…what now?_

"Huh?"

"Your weapon." The alien said. "If you would remove it from your shoulder and allow it fall…"

"Oh." Trip said. "Right. I don't think so. Who the hell are you?"

"I am Subaltern Sotem. Again, if you would disarm…"

"Stand down, Subaltern."

T'Pol. With _another _of them.

Where the hell had all _these _guys come from anyway? And where were…?

"T'Pol!" He said, anxiously. "Clover and Romeo okay?"

"I do not know. I was coming here to assess you for injury…"

He was already limping away, throwing the subspace converter up on one shoulder.

"Okay, come on. Let's go."

"You are shot." She pointed out.

"Just a graze. Come on." He frowned.

What the hell? Romeo and Clover could be hurt. He'd armored the hell out of that truck, of course. But he was pretty sure that was a propelled grenade that'd hit it. One of them could have bumped their head or something.

"They are already approaching." She said.

He stopped and looked over, finding her looking away across the field. And, yep, there they were, ambling along over the shredded ground toward them. Romeo looked a little banged up. Clover just looked irritated.

So he was able to let out that breath he'd been holding until he was sure they were okay. Since they seemed to be.

He suddenly wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about that now, though. The plan was to get the hell out of there. But now all _this_ was happening instead.

Trip looked around, frowning at how he was so off balance here.

"So…who are all these guys?"

"This is Major Kov." She said. "They have come to retrieve survivors and to destroy the remains of the survey vessel."

Trip nodded. Pretending that made sense to him, since it seemed to make sense to her.

"Yeah. Okay. Don't think that's gonna be a problem. Most of it's scrap already."

"Trip, you alright?" Romeo asked, just a few yards away.

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Got a little shot, though."

"Who are all these guys?"

"T'Pol's folks."

"Oh." Romeo said, coming up on them now. "So…they aren't gonna try to disarm us or anything, are they? That enforced peace thing T'Pol was talking about?"

"No, no. They're fine." Trip assured.

Trip found himself staring at a bunch of aliens all of a sudden, though. Which was pretty weird. Not the sort of thing he'd expected to be doing today.

He standing on one side with Romeo and Clover. T'Pol over there with Kov and a couple of _them_.

"So, uh." He said, nodding. "Welcome to Earth, I guess."

"Trip. You are injured." T'Pol said.

Patiently. Like he was kinda stupid and forgot that. Which…yeah, okay. He sorta had.

He sighed. "Yeah, sorry. Kind of a weird situation here."

"In understand, of course. If you would allow our medic to treat you, that would preferable."

"Right. Okay. Yeah." He nodded.

T'Pol turned and signaled one of the men waiting behind her. Who came at him with some weird looking gizmo that made funny noises…

"Uh…what's that thing?"

"A medical scanner."

"Oh."

So he didn't back away or threaten to shoot anyone, like he sort of wanted to just then. He let the guy wave it around at him instead. Then start pulling other interesting gizmos out of a bag he had hanging from his shoulder.

Then he realized…

And he stared at T'Pol in shock.

"Oh." He said, his voice already regretful. "You're leaving now, aren't you?"

"It would seem so." She said.

And there was a little regret in her voice as well.


	15. Chapter 15

"Want me to turn the headlight on again or something?" Romeo said, from the front seat of the truck.

"No. Battery's good." Trip said. "Is the key still on?"

"Yeah."

"Check the fuel gauge."

"I _checked _that, Trip."

"Just make sure, Romeo." Trip said, clanking around somewhere beneath the hood of the truck down there. "Every time I have to go on the damned road to get someone started up again, they're out of fuel half the damned time. Nobody ever checks..."

"Well, I didn't think that grenade ate my _fuel_, Trip. But I checked. Half a tank, still."

"You not going with her, Trip?" Clover asked, from the cab.

Trip frowned. "Which 'her' are we talking about, Clover?"

"_Her_, Trip."

"No." He said, irritably.

"Why not?"

"Try it again, Romeo."

Romeo turned the key again. Nothing.

"She wants you to go, don't she?"

"I don't _know_, Clover. Romeo?"

"Nope." Romeo said.

"Why you don't _ask _her?" Clover demanded.

"_Can we maybe focus on the damned truck, Clover?" _Trip snapped. From somewhere deep down in the engine.

"Truck's drived." She said.

"Trip." Romeo said. "You sure it's not the starter? That's what it was last time."

"It's not the damned starter…!"

"Truck's _drived_." Clover said, louder.

Something banged around down there. And cursed.

"Hey! Don't take it out on my truck, Trip."

It was quiet for a moment.

"_What_, Clover?" Trip said.

"It's drived." She said again.

Frowning. Glaring down at the truck hood, where Trip was being so stupid.

"Romeo…this damned thing's an automatic…"

Romeo startled. And looked down at the gear shift.

"Oh." He said.

"Put it in park, Romeo."

It started right up.

* * *

><p>T'Pol approached the truck as it pulled up, having spent the last several minutes working its way out of the creek bed. Waited patiently, with her hands folded at her back, as it stopped and the engine was shut down.<p>

Trip jumped down from the passenger side then, where she waited.

"Hey." He said, once he'd come to stand before her.

And…she'd changed clothes. She was wearing some kind of alien uniform or something. Kind of rust red in color, with actual rank insignia at the neck.

Damn. She looked pretty good in that get up…

"Major Kov's team has nearly completed their work with the wreckage." She said.

"What are they going to do about the hull and the rest?" Trip asked, glancing around over the field. And taking another good look at how well that uniform fit when she turned to look over the field herself.

"There is little that can be done there." She said, looking around. Most of the actual hull remained intact, resting here and there in the field. "They have only enough parathermite to destroy those components that pose a risk…"

"Well, I'm salvaging all that stuff once you guys leave." Trip smiled, tucking his hands in his pockets. "That duranium stuff'll make some great armor."

"I doubt you would be able to work the metal with the equipment currently available to you." T'Pol said, looking back at him.

Trip shrugged. "I'll just have to come up with new equipment then, I guess."

They looked at one another for a while.

"I would prefer to stay, Trip." She said.

Which surprised him.

"Yeah." He said, softly. "Me, too."

Then he smiled and shrugged.

"Catch 22." He said.

T'Pol's eyebrow went up. As he'd expected it would.

"I've heard you mention 'logic' a few times." He said. "So I thought you'd appreciate this. I read this book one time. The main character, Yossarian, is a combat pilot or something in world war two. And…he doesn't want to fly combat missions, because they're dangerous. So he tries to figure out how to get out of it and he discovers he can ask for a psych evaluation. Be declared mentally unfit and be grounded. But Catch 22 prevents that from ever happening."

T'Pol considered that.

"How does Catch 22 prevent this?" She asked. Because he clearly expected her to ask.

"Well." Trip said. "See, the problem is that if you ask for an evaluation, that means you're sane enough to know you need one. So you're not crazy and can't be grounded. If you're crazy then you wouldn't ask for an evaluation in the first place. So you can't be grounded then either."

T'Pol nodded. "An example of circular logic."

"Right." Trip nodded.

Her eyes searched for the relevance, while he gazed at her.

"I cannot stay, Trip." She guessed. "Because our laws forbid any avoidable contamination of your pre-warp culture. And you cannot achieve warp capable status, without further such contamination."

Trip shrugged. "Well, not any time soon anyway."

She looked at him, uncertain.

"I mean…it's gonna take me a couple of decades to get up to the Phoenix. If that's all I do for the next couple of decades. Which...you can bet it _will_ be."

"Only two?" She asked.

He kinda got the impression that sounded like _good news _to her. So…

"Well…maybe a little longer." He admitted, reluctantly. "Three or four, maybe."

He shrugged, helplessly.

"I see." She nodded. Disappointed.

Trip had to look away for a moment. And so noticed Major Kov approaching across the field. And the rest of the Vulcans beginning to move back toward the alien shuttle.

He frowned. "I guess your friends are done."

T'Pol looked over, confirming his assessment.

"We're not even going to get to have a decent goodbye here, are we?" He said, smiling wryly at her.

She wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"Subcommander." Kov said, as he arrived. "Our work is complete and we have rendered what material we could incapable of further contamination."

"That is acceptable, Major." She said, nodding.

"There remains, however, the issue of the subspace converter your Human associates recovered from the wreckage."

Trip took a deep breath. Then nodded.

"Right." He said, letting it out. "Got it in the truck."

He turned away to step back up into the vehicle. While T'Pol and Kov regarded one another for a moment.

Kov spoke first. "It is unfortunate that we are unable…"

"If your men are prepared, we will leave immediately." T'Pol interrupted.

She didn't really want to delay the inevitable any longer. That would be illogical. And...uncomfortable.

Kov simply nodded, as Trip jumped down from the truck again, the subspace converter held in both hands now.

Looking thoughtful.

T'Pol waited…until she realized he wasn't turning the device over to Major Kov with any haste.

"Trip?" She asked, after a moment.

He looked up. Still thoughtful.

"You guys _need _this thing?" He asked.

T'Pol and Kov glanced at one another again.

"It is not particularly required." Kov said. "However, it represents a possible source of technological contamination that protocol…"

"Right." Trip said. "But you don't _need _it. Your subspace comm's missing an antenna. Not a converter."

"Trip." T'Pol said, quietly. "Regretfully, we cannot allow you to retain the subspace converter. I'm sorry."

Trip nodded.

And grinned.

"Okay." He said. "What you got in trade?"

T'Pol stared for a moment.

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"Well." Trip said, looking at the device in his hands. "This here's a salvage site. And I salvaged this. So…according to local common law…this is mine now."

T'Pol stared.

"So." He said, grinning at her. "You want it, you gotta trade me for it."

"Subcommander…" Kov began.

T'Pol spoke, interrupting again. "Trip, we have nothing we can trade you for the device that would not likewise pose as a contamin-…"

"We'll trade for service, then." Trip shrugged, still grinning.

T'Pol arched an eyebrow at him.

_What were his intentions here?_

"What service would you require in trade?"

Trip looked over at the Vulcan shuttle.

"Think we can catch a ride?" He asked.

T'Pol blinked.

Because…that surprised her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Seleya<br>**_**Earth orbit**

T'Pol strode onto the bridge, where the bridge crew busied themselves with their duties. Monitoring the progress of the inhabitants of the planet below.

And in orbit nearby.

Captain Voris spared her a glance before returning his attention to his duties.

"Sensors, current status?" He asked.

"The vessel's warp engine is online." The sensor operator reported. "Power increases detected in all systems. No failures, as yet."

Voris turned to Subcommander T'Pol.

"Your Human engineer appears as capable as we hoped." He said. "I held some concerns, considering the age of the vessel."

"From what he suggested, the human, Cochrane, was a capable engineer himself." T'Pol said, folding her hands at her back. "When he was not intoxicated."

Voris nodded, turning to Communications.

"Open a channel to the Phoenix." He ordered.

With a tap at the console, the bridge speaker system responded.

"…_not hard, Clover. Just watch the screen and tell me if one of them turns red."_

"_She's scared up here, Trip!"_

"_Romeo, would you pull on her tail, like I told yah?"_

"_You sure that works…?"_

"_Yes, please! She's scared up here!"_

"_It calms her down, Romeo! Just get over yourself and pull on it a little. Jeez!"_

"Phoenix, what is your current status?" Captain Voris asked.

"_Uh…yeah, hold on there, Seleya…"_

"_Thanks, Romeo!"_

"_I can just sit on your tail, Clover. That work?"_

"_Yeah. Thanks! Hey, Trip, this one here's for the ship, right? In case it gets broke up?"_

"_Right, structural integrity. You're just looking for that to get any higher than the top line. Don't worry about the other ones. We ready, guys?"_

"_Got the warp core thing lit up, already, Trip. Want me to bump up the plasma?"_

"_Go ahead, Romeo. Give me a pressure reading…"_

"_Good to go, Trip. Pressure's good. According to this thing, anyway. Nacelles…charged and ready. Hit the gas…or, plasma, whatever…and let's get haulin'!"_

"_Alright. Seleya, we're good to go over here."_

"Very well." Voris responded. "We will continue to monitor."

T'Pol stepped forward. "Communications, are you recording?"

"Indeed, Subcommander."

She nodded. Then noticed Captain Voris looking at her.

"This represents a pinnacle moment in Human development." She explained. "High Command would prefer a full recording of the event."

"Yes, of course." Voris agreed.

"_Trip, what's that?"_

"_Uh…oh, hey. That's a CD player…let's see…"_

"Helm, bring us about." Voris ordered. "Prepare to match speed. Sensors, continue full sensor sweeps, report any changes."

"_Hey, Romeo, you bring your charge?"_

"_Uh…yeah. Why?"_

"_Here, take this hippy crap. Probably can trade it for something. Pretty sure it was Cochrane's. Give me that."_

"_Alright, thanks. Here."_

"_Okay…we're rolling, Seleya."_

"Captain." Tactical reported. "The Phoenix has increased in speed to ten thousand kilometers per second."

"Helm, match speed." Voris ordered.

"_Warp field…looks good. Damn, gotta hand it to Cochrane. Look at that bubble. She's a beauty, ain't she? What's our speed?"_

"_Coming up on…twenty thousand kilometers a second now. That's pretty damned fast, Trip. Wow. Still climbing…"_

"_Just wait…you're gonna love this…let me know when we get over two hundred kilometers per, alright? Clover, what you got?"_

"_Not broke up yet, Trip!"_

"Significant increase in speed, captain." Tactical reported. "Rapidly approaching critical velocity."

"_Okay…come up on two hundred thousand, Trip."_

"_Alright…let's rock and roll…"_

Something…_raucous _erupted across the bridge. Something rhythmic. And primitive. Causing most of the Vulcans in attendance to raise an eyebrow.

"Tactical, report." Voris ordered.

"No notable failures, Captain."

Captain Voris turned to T'Pol. _What was wrong with the Phoenix, that it would generate such a noise…?_

"I believe it is music, Captain." She said.

Voris raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain?"

"Indeed." She said. "This is Romeo's charge. Haulers…cargo transporters…are known to play music such as this when going into battle."

Voris considered. "Do the Humans expect to engage in battle?"

"I believe not. It is also a form of…emotional expression." She said.

"I see." Captain Voris nodded, turning back to the main screen.

"…_Back in black! I hit the sack! I've been too long, I'm glad to be back…"_

T'Pol hesitated but…

"If Communications continues to record, perhaps it is no longer necessary…?" She suggested.

"Close channel." Voris ordered.

"…_from the noose, that's kept me-"_

Silence again.

Relief was palpable on the bridge.

And it was quiet for a moment…

"Phoenix has achieved warp one, Captain."

Voris nodded. "Very well. Note the time in the mission log."

He turned to T'Pol then. "It appears your Humans have achieved their first manned warp flight, Subcommander. As predicted."

She nodded in return. "Indeed. That is gratifying. Further, it occurs to me that the _Seleya _is currently well positioned to make first contact. Which, I believe, falls under her mandate."

Voris stared, eyebrow questioning.

"_Official _first contact, Captain." T'Pol corrected. "And, further, having prior experience with the Humans of this culture, and those piloting the Phoenix…"

"Your diplomatic credentials are up to date I assume, Subcommander?"

"Indeed, Captain."

"Very well." He said. "Communications, contact the shuttle bay. Inform Subaltern V'Len to prepare a shuttle. Subcommander T'Pol will require it when the Humans return to the surface. And have Major Kov form a diplomatic detail to attend her."

* * *

><p><strong>Scraptown<strong>  
><strong>The Carolinas, Confederacy Territory<strong>

Well over three hundred humans, dressed in varying degrees of ragged, worn clothing, had already gathered to see who the hell had just parked a spaceship on the edge of town.

Trip was only just emerging himself, to find Clover and Romeo busy calming everyone down and keeping them from walking over to poke around curiously. By waving guns around, threatening to shoot anyone who did so.

And the crowd was just beginning to quiet down. Not due to the threats. That was not so uncommon as to cause them that much concern. They were turning their attention skyward…

Grinning already, he jogged down the short ramp and came around to look up himself.

A Vulcan shuttle floated down up there, angling in with barely a sound, aiming itself to come to rest about fifty meters away.

"Romeo, Clover!" He called out. "Don't worry about them. Come on!"

"They gonna mess with the ship, Trip!" Clover yelled back.

He almost stumbled to a stop at that. Almost.

But he kept going. Because he had to be there when she stepped out.

"Screw it." He said. "Let 'em. I'll fix it later."

So he was there when the shuttle landed. And the airlock opened, revealing a lovely Vulcan woman in very attractive, very official looking robes.

And he grinned. Probably as big a grin as he'd grinned in a good long time.

She stepped forward then. Regally, like a princess or something. Which was just perfect, he thought. And she put her right hand up, making some kind of sign at him, with her fingers spread apart just so.

"Live long and prosper." She said.

And her voice was just beautiful.

So he laughed a little. He couldn't help it. And he figured that must be some kind of official greeting or something, so he put his hand up, too. Spread his fingers like she was doing, and nodded at her.

Then stuck his hand out, eagerly. Happily. Feeling pretty damned good about things.

She regarded his hand for a moment. Then calmly, gracefully reached out to grasp it in return. Allowing him to shake hers slightly.

And, since it seemed proper to do so, allowing him to retain her hand for a time. For as long as he deemed appropriate, according to Earth customs.

"Right back atcha." He grinned.

And it would seem Earth customs allowed for extended contact in such circumstances. Because he didn't let go again for quite some time.

* * *

><p><em>That's all, folks! :D<em>

_- Mary_


End file.
